The line is drawn, the names go out, One by one, they step and shout. Feet shuffle, eyes dart away, Hands are chosen, hearts at play.

Then silence—waiting, weighing thin, Hope now fading in the din. Not first, not second, nor the rest, Only called when none are left.

A nod, a sigh, a fleeting glance, Not chosen—placed, by happenstance. Still, I stand, still, I try, Even when they pass me by.