We enter the darkness,
Save squares bathed in light,
Where gem-like orbs glisten,
Testing our eyes.

Occasionally, arms reach out
From the blackness, and become bright.
Crouching postures so strange,
Not picking the flowers from the lawns.

Click!  Crack!  Colours ricochet from wood
And cork, rolling silently over soft greens.
Fleeing orbs, creating many angles,
Until finally, running away into their holes.