Joseph Robert Townsend, Jr

The Final Home Run

The game is done, the final inning's played,
The sun dips low, a golden light is laid.
No more the bat, the field, the roaring crowd,
Just gentle whispers, softly, softly bowed.

The ball has sailed, a final, graceful arc,
Beyond the fence, leaving a memory's mark.
No need to run, no need to chase the prize,
Just close your eyes, and drift into the skies.

The home plate beckons, a place of peaceful rest,
Where weary souls are gently, gently blessed.
No more the struggle, the race, the hurried pace,
Just endless calm, and love's embracing grace. 

So run your race, and reach the final ground,
Where peace and comfort gently can be found.
No more the game, but a new day's start,
A home run won, within a grateful heart. 

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