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Champions Once

We were champions
once, before Corona,
And wore blood red
to reflect our aura.
But now I go,
there’s seats to spare,
I hold my brew, and
dare not swear.
And so we linger
in last, lost space,
Count balls, strikes,
Still hungry to place.
But all our stars
are on other teams,
Our owner died,
sweet in his dreams.
My season is over,
here comes fall,
Its time to honor —
the glove, the bat, the ball.

Robert is a Capitol Hill resident of 40-years. 

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