I never liked the feeling

Of always being chosen last

Especially when my friends

Apologized for having passed

They looked right in my eyes

As they chose their teams

And decided they should choose

Another kid whose eyes did beam.

I knew that I was not so great

At kicking the kickball

Or running ‘round the bases

Sometimes I would even fall

So though it hurt I understood

I was not my friends’ first pick

But being chosen last

Almost always made me sick.

But then a miracle occurred

A new kid came to town

And he was even worse than me

I could not help but turn my frown

For on the day the new kid came

Hurt became part of my past

On that joyous, magical day

I was not chosen last.