Empty seats at the Finals, a sight disappointing
As if a Challenger, the wee crowd was anointing
My, how we miss those salad days at the Garden
It’s a business, they say, so this we must pardon
A new rivalry took hold, a matchup to die for
As they jockey for the top, the losses they abhor
Iga vs. Aryna, they’ve now played twelve times
Each matchup an epic, to miss one’s a crime
Swiatek saved three match points in defending Madrid
Claimed the Rome final, too, quashed her opponent’s bid
But Sabalenka assumed the throne, No. 1, no jive
May there be many more clashes in twenty-five
Until then, dear readers, ‘cause I know you’re hurtin’
Dream of Vika and Vekic, Muchova and Mertens
Of Begu and Badosa, Dolehide and Dart
Before you know it, a new season will start.
