The Basking
All systems spent and muscles sore,
The end is on nigh at half past four.
An upward climb took every ounce,
Sweat upon sweat upon grueling pounds.
Fifth set tie breakers arrive too late,
When the legs are placed in a feeble state,
When the arms are sluggish pendulums,
But the heart is a river that overruns.
All the weary have a merciful end
From a life spent with pain and pain again,
Spiraling toward a musty home called sepulcher,
Of death soon to come for the only cure.
Alas, the Angel of Mercy came down to me.
She siteth upon my shoulder, my urgent plea.
She’s all so beautiful, so radiant, so grand.
She placed the winning racket in my hand.
My opponent went down more spent than I,
In defeat as the rules of competition specify.
We both were winners before our blessed maker,
The one up above, our hallowed liberator.
My basking was me in my moment of glory.
The tennis court was the setting for my epic story.
It led me to my merited moment of shining,
When I hoisted the trophy
And kissed the silver lining.
Thanks be to the intrepid heart inside of me
And to God, my creator, who placed it there.
