Diabaté

I think that I will never see

A player as hungry as Diabaté.

Diabaté, whose grasping hands are prest

Against the ball’s leather fast;

Diabaté, who outworks on the court all day,

And lifts his long strong arms in play;

Diabaté, who may in playoffs reign,

Wiping hardwoods, his foes the stain;

Upon whose shoulders Hornets’ hopes are carried;

Whose opponents are forever harried.

Poems are made by fools like me,

But Jeff, thank God, gave us Diabaté.

By Benjamin Gillum, aka BenJammin G, with a bow to “Trees” by Joyce Kilmer