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In Other Words/To Myrtilla, on Opening Day

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To Myrtilla, on Opening Day
Myrtilla, ere the season starts,Or e’er the primal ball be thrownIf you would win this callous heart’sAffection for your very own,This counsel, blooming, fresh and frondent—Accept it from your correspondent.
Back in the days of Old Cap Anse’Twas reckoned cute to spoof a dame,And famed was her incognitanceAbout the so-called national game;And comment feminine was silly.That was before your day, Myrtilly.
For, now, Myrtilla, I admitYour knowledge far transcends mine own;You know an error from a hit—A quaver from a semitone;You never say “How small the bat is!”You never have to ask who that is.
Nay, Myrt, too well you like the game;You are too true a devotee;My Blue-Print is the kind of dameWhose love is less for ball than me;And so, my Myrt, that is the reasonI think I’ll go alone this season.