Whispers of the Cue

The green expanse, a velvet, silent field, Where spheres of color, destiny concealed. A gentle hum, the tavern's muted sound, As players gather on this hallowed ground. The cue stick poised, a whisper in the air, A calculated strike, a moment to compare. The white ball glides, a dancer on the green, A subtle touch, a strategic scene. The click and clack, a rhythmic, soft refrain, As colored orbs, their ordered paths attain. A geometric dance, of angles, spin, and grace, Where skill and patience find their rightful place. The pockets yawn, like hungry, waiting jaws, To swallow spheres, and challenge nature's laws. A delicate finesse, a master's steady hand, To weave a web of strategy across the land. The tension builds with every silent shot, A game of focus where fortunes are begot. The final strike, a triumph or defeat, The billiards table where destinies meet. ©bfa031425