The Return of the Return
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.
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