Game

To make a move and play a game

‘cross straightened rows of black and white...

To open, close, or stay the same

through silent countermoves of night…

The lines of pawns that move one way;

the knights that leap through light of day;

the bishops wind a crooked course;

the rooks with their straightforward force;

the king with short legs on the scene,

surveying all the crumbling rows;

and swift and nimble, keen of nose,

the deadly distant present queen.

The four and sixty squares, they prove

a game’s no game without a move.

But win or losing, lose or win,

it’s better far to never play;

the game you never quite begin,

ever perfect, each passing day.

The pawns will never break their lines.

Imagined purely grand designs

where nothing’s lost, where nothing fails:

forever waiting never stales.

And should the pieces fall to dust

when the hourglass has run…

imagined games are far more fun,

and nothing ever lost, I trust.

And so I think it’s finally proved:

it’s better far to make no move.