The bulldog sits in still authority,
No flourish needed, no theatrical grin;
Four aces rest in quiet clarity,
A sovereign calm beneath his brindled skin.
Around the table tension tightens slow,
Muzzles stiff with calculation’s art;
Each rival studies what he does not show,
Each wonders where the turning point will start.
No smoke, no spotlight crowns the winning hand,
No thunder cracks to mark decisive fate;
Just painted pause—suspended, close at hand—
Where patience proves itself the stronger trait.
And in that pause, before the wagers fall,
His steady gaze outplays and masters all.