The tennis ball: a humble sphere
Whose gifts abound
Within its cheer-
Ful furry pate and sunny glow
That bids forget this cold and snow.
To grip it firm can
Help the old
Retrain their strength
Aye, make them bold!
When summer comes that aged lot
Thanks to this ball
Won’t need to drop.
Aching backs and bottoms tight
Can torture people day and night
But once again this happy globe
Can ease knots hands find hard to fight:
So sure, a firm but gentle probe.
And what of when we fail to make
Good contact ‘tween our hands
And brain? I know this round
Can help again –
To throw to catch, to reach to lean,
Our ball can keep our senses keen!
Yet all these are but parts o’a whole
Our orb can give!
Our inner child and friends re-formed:
then fun re-found!
For all its small and modest rounds,
This little sun can help us live.
