Baseball Card Poem

My daughter, who spends her days cataloging new books at the local library, often pages through the books she is working on. The other day she found a poem about baseball cards in a book called Keepers: Treasure-Hunt Poems by John Frank. She immediately typed it into an email and sent it to me.

BASEBALL CARDS by John Frank

A shoe box full of baseball cards,
of players from olden days,
with tiny batting averages
and giant E.R.A.’s—
an absolutely sorry stack,
not worth the gum once in each pack,
but . . . what is this? . . .
A rookie Willie Mays?

The “Say-Hey Kid”? The legend
of the one-hand basket catch?
There was no fly he couldn’t field
no base he couldn’t snatch,
no juicy pitch he couldn’t clout,
no runner he could not throw out—
his glove and speed and power
had no match!

And what? A Sandy Koufax??
Once the greatest arm of all,
he threw so hard that if you blinked
you wouldn’t see the ball;
the batters always swung too late,
they’d miss the lighting sear the plate,
then hear the umpire’s thunderous
“Stee-rike!” call.

And yes! A Henry Aaron,
baseball's longtime home-run king!
He belted seven fifty-five
with his colossal swing!
His bat was money in the bank!
A MINT-CONDITION HAMMERIN’ HANK!
I wouldn’t trade these cards
for anything!

I, sadly, don't own any of these cards. I found them online through Google image serach.