In the realm where paddles dance and balls glide,
Where echoes of laughter and rivalry reside,
A shockwave rippled through the vibrant air,
As news of the suspension struck, raw and bare.
Ben Johns, a maestro with wins by the score,
Adored by the masses, his spirit we bore.
With swift hands orchestrating each artful play,
He lit up the courts, brightening the day.
But in a moment so sudden, so stark,
Came the news of a pause, left the world in the dark.
Two months adrift from the game that he loves,
A star dimmed, as mourning poured down like the doves.
Fans gathered round, their hearts heavy with ache,
In the silence that lingered, they felt the earth quake.
For each flick of his wrist, each point won with pride,
Was a thread in the fabric of joy that he’d tied.
Teammates stood silent, eyes glossed with the tears,
Raising paddles in homage, to quell all their fears.
A family now shaken, yet steadfast would be,
For love is the force that binds deep as the sea.
He taught us to rally, to strive and to dare,
To rise with resilience, entwined in the air.
Though absence may shadow, his essence will shine,
And embers of hope in our hearts we’ll align.
The courts will eagerly await his return,
For each flickering candle still holds a bright burn.
In whispers of winds and the rhythm of play,
We cherish the moments, in our hearts he will stay.
So here’s to the champion, with battles ahead,
To the waves of emotion that we gently tread.
In the game of reflection, we find him anew,
For true champions rise, and the skies will be blue.
Through the echoes of pickleball, in every small cheer,
We stand by our beacon, we’ll persevere here.
For in joy and in sorrow, together we stand,
The spirit of Ben, in each rally, each hand.
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