Last Stands

 Last Stands  

Johnclarestokes  

 On the fields of Trenton far away,

 In the fading fall of sixty-seven,

 From the sky a ball spiraled his way,

 Lost in the vapor lamps under cool heaven.

 In the bleachers of away sat a father,

 Cheering the son on his long route,

 Can this time in young arms gather,

 the falling ball hidden by light?

  Into the end zone of home we reached,

 The clutching of pigskin in outstretched hands,

  A sound arose grander than any sermon preached,

  A father cheering his son from the stands.

  First touchdowns, victories, falling balls,

  So far from the fly route once ran, 

 But the one thing near he still recalls, 

 A fathers voice above the cheers in the stand,

  Way to go John!