Winning the hand

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This crowd dies down
The court is left without sound
The night hour haunts our souls
When the rain pours down
It becomes our worst enemy
Still, we must carry on

His magnificent elegant form
With eyes like the devil
For the sake of leading the team
He is proud to be invincible
He stands with pure confidence
Flowing through his veins

Left in awe fans turn over an air of puzzlement
Expressions are left dead
With no sign of hope, happiness, or dread
Walk away the winner
Thanks to the help of one beginner
He’s the calm, self-possessed demon of tennis





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