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Rated: E · Poetry · Sports · #1472006
I don't write poetry any more; I haven't since about 2002. This is one of my last ones.
here we sit, entrenched in a fight
we've played all day and into the night
it's now my move and he has white
we'll play right up 'til dawn

he must retreat; his king needs room
without it, he'll be mated soon
he takes his time - he senses doom
for now I've won a pawn

my mind is racing - i still persist
to dwell on the wind i might have missed;
my hand shoots out - i play Kd6
what is going on?

with b5 white creates a passer;
i'd win this if my name is Yasser;
my brain is spinning ever faster
could my win be gone?

my rook slides back - i'm so unfocused;
those queenside pawns are a swarm of locusts -
i wish the arbiter had come to show us
a move to adjourn upon

his rook is well placed, his king will break through;
there's only one thing left to do -
i'll give back my pawn with Rc2!
i fight myself, push back a yawn

my mind is clear, without ambition -
i've forced a three-time repetition;
you'll note the very last position
is absolutely drawn

i shake his hand and walk quickly away;
a devilish question came about today;
an unsolvable query, much to my dismay;
what good is one extra pawn?
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