Sestina

This is the moment he has been waiting for.

As he slowly walks onto the court

He thinks how far he as had to travel

To make this a reality.

The crowd cheers and then he waves,

The fun part is over, time for the work.

New strings on the racquet are a good perk.

He concentrates while looking at the floor,

He thinks about all the energy he gave,

But he still loves the sport.

He has to get into the right mentality, 

He can't afford to let his game unravel.

Before the first serve he looks down at the gravel

He looks at his opponent who has a smirk,

He knows that he can't loose his vitality.

In the first set he's already down by four,

He needs some support,

It feels like he is digging his own grave.

His face is grave

He wishes that he was at home playing scrabble.

Slowing down the pace is his last resort.

The ball hits the net again and he goes berserk.

Soon his hand starts to get sore.

He can't leave the court, he is a slave.

It's time to be brave.

Shadows begin to lurk

Across the clay floor

At which he marvels.

He does everything to try and save

The match. He is getting fed up with the sport.

For a while it looks like he might not fall short,

His opponent looses his temper and misbehaves.

He is starting to act like a jerk.

A victory is what he craves.

Soon he cannot hear the crowd babble

And everything he starts to ignore.

He just realized that he wrote the poem 

wrong but has too much homework

so will fix it later.