Thread: Golf Poem

Golf Poem
In My Hand I Hold A Ball,
White And Dimpled, Rather Small.
Oh, How Bland It Does Appear,
This Harmless Looking Little Sphere.

By It's 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 Stupid Game.
It Rules My Mind For Hours On End,
A Fortune It Has Made Me Spend.

It Has Made Me Yell, Curse And Cry,
I Hate Myself And 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 And Dies,
And Even Disappears Before My E yes.
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 Only It Would Find The Hole.

It's Made Me Whimper Like A Pup,
And Swear That I Will Give It Up.
And Take To Drink To Ease My Sorrow,
But The Ball Knows ... I'll Be Back Tomorrow.

The real poem for the golfer

I dont give a crap what groundstaff say
They can mow some other day
Golf over rides my sense of reason
And it doesnt change the time or season

If it's dark I get the balls that glow
You can get ones that you can see in snow
If you close the course because of lightening
I'll kick my legs and yell like anything

If I cant see far I will get a spotter
but I'll drive to golf and dodge the copper
I must park as close to the clubhouse you see
The 6 mile walk is enough for me