As a kid,
I was in love,
with my baseball glove.
I used it as a pillow,
as I slept under the willow.
It was just as important as my hand,
when the other kids rocks started to land.
It also caught big baseballs,
before the bump on the head calls.

My glove was my best toy,
when I was a little boy.
Sometimes when I cried,
it was a face cover inwhich I relied.
Then after the shame,
I was back in the game.

Many years have past,
my old glove got lost at last.
But my love for it is still,
finding a replacement almost nil.
With these oversized hands,
no glove fits their demands.
Everytime one looks legit,
it doesn't fit,
so here I sit.

Still in love,
with a lost glove,
almost worst than,
a lost love.

G