It seemed only seconds ago that you were one, with barely a last hit and no chance to win.
And then you were three, still quite the child, and thinking that you were free.
Three became six, so brash and confident, with your new shiny ultimate.
Six led to ten, and you'd overextend, until I came to save you.
Finally you were fifteen, full grown and strong, not needing me to tell you right from wrong.
It seemed only seconds between one and eighteen, but now you couldn't fall, hardly needing me at all.
A poem for supports