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Tennis MAG
A bright colored ball flies
Against the pale blue sky
It nosedives to the ground
To be hit by cruel titanium
Across the grassy green court
But the ball doesn't care
A silver streak swoops to it
Reflecting the warm sun's rays
While it delivers the terrible blow
Unable to stop the will
Of its ruthless master
But the rackets don't care
For they are mindless minions
In their masters' brawl
© Anonymous
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This article has 1 comment.
Tjflash said...
on Aug. 31 2011 at 2:23 pm
The simple name is probably the most complex part of this poem. The writer made a mistake that lots of people do. He tried too hard to make the poem sound professional by adding terminology like (pale blue sky) or describing the ball as brightly colored. Not only was this poem unoriginal, it was boring to read.
