Thoughts on the Berdych/Federer quarterfinal, versified

After six years of dithering, Big Bird,
You finally ruffled someone else's feathers,
Snatching the Peacock by his silly nethers
To pluck him into hen-hood. Now he's third
(You're twelfth) and likely to sink lower, lured
By gravity's slow work to rougher weathers,
Worse winds. No matter. Now that he's in tethers,
Peabody's name, once law, is just a word.

And so the Ostrich put the Cock to pasture
(Though, as a Czech, he nearly did crap out).
And Roger, what's to say? You won it last year.
Let it be. The Pleiades grow old.
Prometheus stole fire to conquer cold,
But gods teach gods to suffer and to doubt.