Let the wind your raven tresses toss,
Oh stunning starshine of the southern cross.
Flaunt your broad hoydenish shoulders
While deep in dark set eyes the lustfire smoulders
As your storm the net with thunderous volley
To ignite another fearsome rally.
Yet in victory you compliment this sport of kings
By humbly resting winner's roses on your racquet strings.
The crowd well cheers your skillful artistry
For only Pygmalion's chisel could have formed such graceful symmetry.
As queen of courts you rule with royal dignity
But only Aphrodite's magic could create such regal chemistry.
So with your headband of fuchsia, periwinkle or garnet
You are more than a great athlete, you are Galatea reincarnate.