See the ball flying high;

It loops, it floats, it passes by.

 

It seems so strange, alien and small

Because it’s hardly seen at all.

Will we catch it this fine day?

Or will we still never play?

 

The days are long, the sun is hot,

But we will never leave this spot.

For we are here to make seem secure

The opposing team does nary score.

 

However, in this place we stand,

Alone and lost, a single strand

Of grass. In games we are no bug;

We are we are the ones who stand and shrug,

And say to those who have no fear:

“Dare you play your ball out here?”

 

For we see that ball flying high,

And know it will not pass us by.

 

For now’s the time that all shall see

Just how useful we can be.

And in their joy, Oh! they will come.

They’ll blare the trumpet, beat the drum!

 

But we are humble, small, and meek,

And we will turn to them and speak:

“Do not us praise, not the heart

Do we, we simply did our part.”

And then we will turn away,

So that we’ll play another day.

 

See the ball flying high.

This time, we’ll let it pass us by.