“The New Tilde” by Tuffy Lazarus
Not like the brazen giant of Greek fame,
With conquering limbs astride from land to land;
Here at our halogen-washed, Comerica gates shall stand
A mighty man with a bat, whose flare
Is the run-scoring double, and his name The Big Tilde.
From his glove-hand
Glows world-wide acclaim; his wild hair’s command
The Windsor-bridged harbor that twin cities frame.
“”Keep, Minnesota Twins, your relief corps!”” cries he
With silent lips. “Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning for a win to see,
The wretched fans of your Tigers forever more.
Send these, the near-winless, tempest-tost to me,
I lift my weapon beside the clubhouse door!”
*tears* this is beautiful.
[...] Also, I stole wrote a poem for the Big Tilde. [...]