In the heart of a match, amidst applause and cheer,
A humble sphere takes center, devoid of fear.
A tennis ball, simple, of yellow and white,
Holds the stage in the stark summer's light.
Years of design, a tale wrapped in felt,
An intimate witness to emotions felt.
Launched in a duel, swung through the air,
Crossing the net, a moment to spare.
The players took stance, one east, one west,
Summoning strength, each seeking to best.
A rhythmic dance, rackets as wands,
Drawing arcs of ambition, weaving potent bonds.
A rally commences, amidst gasps and awe,
An epic performance, devoid of flaw.
The ball in motion, true and sure,
In its swift journey, a tale it bore.
Back and forth, with each precise hit,
An ode to endurance, they refused to quit.
Tirelessly swinging, amidst sweat and toil,
The ball, a scribe, on this hallowed soil.
The crowd held breath as seconds stretched long,
Their heartbeat syncing to the rally's song.
It crossed the net, times untold,
A whispering sphere, its story bold.
The longest rally in the annals of time,
A dance, a duel, a pantomime.
The sun set low, shadows fell,
The tennis ball in its endless spell.
Exhaustion loomed, bodies waned,
Yet, the unyielding spirit, forever ingrained.
Finally it fell, the rally’s end near,
A sigh of relief, a thunderous cheer.
Now a symbol, a beacon of sheer might,
Of the longest rally fought into the night.
Oh, humble tennis ball, your journey, a test,
In the annals of history, forever at rest.
