WIMBLEDON WHISPERS
The roar is muted
The ladies have left
Gents have vanished
Centre Court – abused and battered – at last rests
A single sprinkler says, “relax, and drink”
And, from my press seat, G-165, I sit in amazement
Tennis bliss
Though the cathedral is empty
My imagination soars
For the ghosts of Lenglen and Tilden, Budge and Kramer still swirl
Echoes sound
A voice whispers, “Well played.”
Here giants in white have long battled bold
Here Novotna still weeps
Becker still dives
Sampras serves free
Serena battles fierce
And Swede Bjorn falls to his knees
One last time
Here Chrissie’s backhands remain immaculate
Martina charges on
Mac’s explosions still thunder
Here, in this stillness
The quiet knows
Every triumph celebrated
Every tear now dry
For while generations pass
Wimbledon remains
Generous stage, sporting temple
Sage and witness
And, in silence, I embrace its gift
A love for all time
Bill Simons
July 16, 2017,
