Hark, the herald angels sing.
Those wooden bats always made your hands sting.
A candy-cane day that smells like peppermint.
Hank Aaron, thanks for 755 homers you sent.
Reaching into a fireplace stocking for the mystery inside.
It was always that way with a Cracker Jack box, you sighed.
Pretty paper, pretty ribbons.
Another fantasy draft and someone says, "Jay Gibbons."
Here is the end.
The holiday season is all about tradition.
So is baseball, soon to undertake another mission.
To every daughter or son, to every Dad or Mom,
Merry Christmas and Peace on Earth, from MLB.com.
An A for effort, Mr. Newman should be given,
It's hard to work "Jay Gibbons" into a Christmas rhyme.
But, here is a rule that should never be riven,
Poetry should be written by poets every, single time!
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