Hello grass, my old friend,
I’ve come to play on you again,
Such a vision of Me sweeping,
Groundsman sowing seeds while I was sleeping,
The vision of Me that was planted in your brain
Within the sound of tennis.
In restless dreams I played Nadal
On grass and hard and clay – oh no,
My record against him is oh so damp,
He tends to give Me a mighty cramp,
When My thighs were stabbed by the tightness of my plight,
That split the fight
And touched the sound of tennis.
And from My night-light I think I saw,
Ten thousand Murrays, maybe more.
Some laughing without speaking,
Some hearing without listening,
Andrew took My Gold that was never meant to share
And no one cared
Disturb the sound of tennis.
“Fans” said I, “You do not know
Silence please I’m about to throw.
Watch My steps that I might teach you,
Look, My arms that I might reach you.”
But My sweat like silent raindrops fell,
In the wells of tennis.
And the people bowed and prayed
To the semi-final I made.
And the score flashed its warning,
Watch the words that I was forming.
And the sign reads the words of My wins that are written on the Wimbledon walls
Not the Garros halls.
And whisper’d in the sounds of tennis.”