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

It Has Made Me Yell, Curse And Cr y,
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 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 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.

Is that a Fred original?

I find golf to be:
An ineffectual attempt to direct and uncontrollable sphere into an inaccessible hole with instruments ill adapted to the purpose. :no:

Stop all this nonsense, give it up Fred,
get out some chisels and go to your shed.
Go ahead and create
a bowl, pen or plate,
then pack up for the night and head off for bed.:2tsup:

Allan

Hey there,

I found Golf to be a Good walk, spoiled by a little White Ball :o



HazzaB

I'm not a golfer:no:, i had it sent to me.:roll:

Allan now that looks like one of your originals well done.