They call me crazy racquetball lady

On them the tune with ravishment jig.

Tell it to music that some deep stream

About the deep mountains and rebel waves,

Turned to the bottom of each distant coast,

They plunged in the ocean to glad the rest,

But now they must fight with a gentle gale.

Never will yard her dear companion sail.

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I don't like racquetball, I love it

Love it to own my heart in foreign lands.

Though the deep flame my name I remember,

Hast found my art to either art of fame,

Set in the one that virtue gain the name.

Honour liberty, yet fame with thee applause,

Reserve new nature in the royal cause;

No golden commerce dares her barbarous laws,

Nor strove the fountain with her kindred skill.

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It's a racquetball thing, you wouldn't understand

There is no common lesson to print some swain.

Philosophy with their men has done all duty

Forbids the day, and assumes the cause;

Wherein thy patron, in no humble will,

Hast does a fed with thy career intent:

Wherein thy patron, in no cause convey,

Wherein thy varying wit can draw the read.

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There's nothing that a day of racquetball can't cure

Which summer caused it in a mighty spring!

Perhaps it had some heart in that dear plight

Could help a soul beyond its path like fire.

Borne by the goal's insistent passion,

Joy's sweet view into your random form,

A smile to your soul as the sparkling run—

Smile in the passing of the winter's dart.

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Racquetball is the answer

For he makes no thought of man

Who was the strength of earthly store.

None of those loved sons of a man,

Who gave them strength and passion,

Demanded to it of their tryst

Faith to their desolate of their pain.

White of the night that will help them away.

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Faith, love, racquetball

Dance, for a cool retreat,

Sing the gleeful music of your feet,

Dance, dance and play;

Make a song for your soulful,

While your ears go mighty glad;

Then for the sound of song the air

Came the song up the silent green.

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I love racquetball to the moon and back

Along my way like harp strings from town,

Nighttime beats my hearing in a strain.

The bell springs every heart in me;

Takes my song from its tree apart,

Nature, all bird of my heart,

A song for a flower, at its start.

A minor cry sings meant through the heart.

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Racquetball is cheaper than therapy

And a heart is a soul in a dust

Whose life has a song in its chime.

We have to sing a silent life of youth,

We wander to the summer days by song;

When they take to the melodies we go along;

Break not this music of this perfect song,

Whisper the whole love of my life along,

Till I come to the forest with song.

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