The robust man stands sharpening his cue
The chalk like a magic dust
He bends himself slowly over the baize
And strikes with vigour and lust

Into the pocket the red ball drops
As a grin spreads across his face
A man in control of his wooden sword
The epitome of sporting grace

He studies the table with stealth
Strategically eyeing the black
Then when he's primed and ready
It drops with a swift hard whack

The hunter is in the zone now
A solider seizing control of troubled lands
Snooker is an art of concentration
And this warrior has the power in his hands