Tennis is a game of wits, of strength
A war to contend for the points
the white lines define our boundaries,
our shots attempting to breach these walls of defense
the green blur twirls, its fuzz enclosing in
a warm hug clinging to its sides
while it flies high in the air
before gravity reclaims it
and it descends once more to the battlefield

But it is also a stage
where every move has to be orchestrated to perfection
a careful dance of perfect balance and rhythm
the sound of the ball hitting the strings
keeping rhythm while the players arms’ outstretch
hitting the pose
before following through, your body twisting
to face the other dancers once more