In quiet tension on the court I stand,Awaiting the serve, my racket in hand.Each second stretches, a breathless pause,Anticipation building, the moment draws. The ball suspended, a fleeting flight,A dance of motion, a blur of white.My heartbeat quickens, muscles tense,Eyes locked on target, no room for pretense. In this suspended moment, time holds still,As I prepare to meet the ball's swift thrill.With focused mind and steady grace,I step into the swing, ready to embrace. The serve descends, a comet's streak,I meet it head-on, strong and sleek.A clash of wills upon the court's expanse,In this moment of waiting, we find our dance.