We uncovered this poem in our inbox, sent to us by Akiva Broder, aged 12...
MY POEM ABOUT WIMBLEDON
The journey through London begins,
When you get out the car to see who wins.
You walk into the big stadium all grey and cold,
You watch the two lucky players all courageous and bold.
As they step onto the court everything begins to shine,
So you watch them take their places on either white line.
The two hold their rackets with the mightiest of power,
The umpire blows the whistle from his chair-like tower.
The server takes his place in the corner of the court,
As the crowd sits back to watch this great sport.
Thwack! Goes the bright yellow ball!
That wasn't expected at all!
The ball goes bounce;
The players pounce;
The ball boys chase;
It's a beautiful ace;
It's nearly game over;
They go to changeover;
The crowd are excited;
The umpire's delighted;
The weather's supreme,
Like the strawberries and cream.
Finally the great game is won,
It was a huge amount of fun.
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20:08It brings me no pleasure but it's time to bring the curtain down for another year. Seemed somehow appropriate to leave the last word to Roger Federer. Thanks a billion for reading. What a fortnight, what a final, fast forward to 2015 please...
20:03"I already have seven. It's not like I need another one. But it would have been awfully nice to have it. I think that's what the feeling was of the people, and I felt that... I know they love tennis. They love tennis after we're all gone."View all