The noontime bright, the Sun 2 shines,
The psych-acoustics, Corn refines
And turns upon the pitcher's mound
Within the Choux, when through the spines

Of all Thieves runs shivers. A sound
Resonates through both wall and ground
And saturates the once-still air
With Wyatt Twelve, a friend newfound.

And welcome Wyatt was to there,
For friendly faces seemed quite rare.
And as Siesta dragged through noon
A new Thief holed up in the lair.

So Twofer, Gunth, and Alx had soon
Brought welcome gifts for Wyatt Noon.
The Gameses led Wy through the ropes
Of taking kicks, the greatest boon.

Fast friends they were, and Wyatt hopes
He'd stay with them. Wy liked these dopes.
And as he steps up on the field
He pockets any shoes he scopes.

That ball he couldn't hurl afield
For echoes in his head congealed.
The noises made his pitching dim
For as they loudened, he had reeled.

And as the night grew dark and grim
He knew his time with them grew slim.
So Midnight Mason laid in wait --
Day 84, the end for him.

The Mints's Best was at the plate
When midnight struck this night of fate.
And Wy XIII and Midnight had
Echoed into the static's wait.

The Thieves had lost another. Sad
Was everyone, for Wyatt had
Not even made it to the end
Of S14, these -ides so bad.

And play continued, though a friend
Was pulled away from them again.
But though he'd met an early end
dear Midnight's loss could never mend.