He stands up and looks to the sky,
One last move to make, one last play,
This is pretty much it, if this fails, he's out,
Nowhere to go, nothing to say that would make a difference,
He wants to see her smile when he asks her,
He fears she will only turn away,
One play...one girl, that's all there is now,
Other games await elsewhere, he says to himself,
He just needs to know if he has a chance to win here,
She's no mere game, she's precious,
Yet he's tossed his lot in with a bunch of quick sparks,
It's getting dark and cold, sparks don't do much,
He wants the flame to keep him warm and sane,
Guess this is it, only a matter of time till it's his turn,
How will he play this out?
Will this be different?
Luck involved maybe, skill hopefully, genuiness surely,
Play that hand, play that line, play.