Ode to Golf
In my hand I hold a ball, White and dimpled and rather small Oh, how bland it does appear. This harmless looking little sphere. By its size I could not guess The awesome strength it does possess; but since I fell beneath its spell I've wandered through the fires of hell. My life has not been quite the same Since I chose to play this game. It rules my mind for hours on end. A fortune it has made me spend. It has made me curse and cry. I hate myself I want to die. It promises a thing called "par" If I can hit it straight and far. To master such a tiny ball Should not be very hard at all But my desires the ball refuses And does exactly as it chooses. |
It hooks and slices, dribbles, dies, Or disappears before my eyes. Often it will have a whim To hit a tree or take a swim. With miles of grass on which to land It finds a tiny patch of sand, Then has me offering up my soul If it will just drop in the hole. It's made me whimper like a pup, And swear that I will give it up And take a drink to ease my sorrow. But "The Ball" knows
I'll be back tomorrow!
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