O Captain, My Captain

O CAPTAIN! my Captain! Your march yet still undone;
The bat has been pulled off the rack, the prize we sought is won;
Your swing they fear, the smack I hear, the people all exulting,
While follow eyes the steady keel, the Rays grim and daring:
But O heart! heart! heart!
O the bleeding drops of Red Sox fans,
Where on the deck my Captain's three-thousandth hit lies,
Fallen into the stands.


O Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells;
Rise up--by you seven pennants won--for you the Curtain Calls; (10)
For you bouquets and pinstriped glee--for you Yankee Stadium a-crowding;
For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces a'nodding;
Here Captain! Dear Jeter!
This shot, your three-thousandth hit;
For nobody dreamed as you sat on deck,
(It would have) Fallen into the stands.


My Captain usually does not answer, his lips are stoic and still;
My Captain usually plays it cool, displays no pulse; all chill;
But the Clippers weren't yet safe and sound, yet, their voyage far from done;
The Rays he rips, with three more hits, drives in the winning run; 20
Exult, Kay, Waldman and Sterling, ah, Hell!
And I at home pump my hands, (Jeter post-win style. Please do not read that part aloud.)
As My Captain's three-thousandth hit just fell,
Fallen into the stands.