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She stood, match point, on this grand stage,
And couldn’t believe, at this day and age,
That she, Serena, had worked back up,
For a shot at that shiny, Australian Cup.
She looked at the ball, in her sweaty right hand,
So nervous that she could hardly stand.
She though of Yetunde, her long lost sister,
And smiled inside, even though she missed her.
She threw the ball high, almost into the sun,
And thought, for sure, she had the point won.
The ball launched forward, in a straight line,
And bounced off the net with a hissing whine.
Sick with nerve, she turned toward the crowd,
And saw her family; cheery and proud.
She read her Mom’s lips, “Just do your best,”
And Serena’s nerves were finally at rest.
Her opponent shook, like a storm on a clover,
And Serena decided that this match was over.
She gazed across the court, into her foe’s face,
And with one last breath, delivered a mighty ace.