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Dear Wimbledon: This Medium Poem Is For You
Wimbledon whispers,
in verdant whispers,
where strawberries dream of cream
and rackets crack like thunder.
Here comes Federer,
grace in motion,
a ballet dancer on green,
his forehand, a painter’s brush,
creating masterpieces with a flick.
Nadal, the bull,
charging the net,
his grunts echoing in rhythm,
a symphony of strength,
with topspin that defies logic.
Serena, a queen with a crown,
her serve a royal decree,
power and poise,
her reign undisputed,
in white, she writes history.
Djokovic, the joker,
flexible as a gymnast,
bending but never breaking,
returning shots with elastic resilience,
laughing at the face of pressure.
The grass courts,
emerald carpets,
where legends are stitched,
each blade a witness
to epic duels and heroic tales.
