This is what happened
that summer afternoon,
you called a handball.
I stood their puzzled
when would I learn?
O they had done it again,
in considerable fashion.
O that darn little ball.
As it made contact with my silly unkept skin,
I felt the melancholic slam of the sound vibrations when it hit my hand.
Though you cried handball,
I cried
and never would this be forgotten
on the sparrow's rave.
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