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Golf Poem


Why Did I Get Hooked?

Received: 27Apr2011

In my hand I hold a ball, white and dimpled and rather small.
However bland it does appear, this harmless looking little sphere.
By its size I could not guess, of the awesome strength it does possess.
But since I fell beneath its spell, I've wandered through the fires of hell.

Why Therapy?

My life has not quite been the same, since I chose to play this stupid game.
It rules my mind for hours on end, a tidy fortune it's made me spend.
It made me curse and made me cry, and hate myself and want to die.
It promised me a thing called par, for hitting straight and hitting far.

Why So Difficult?

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 dissappears before my eyes.
Often it will have a whim to hit a tree or take a swim.

Why So Cruel?

With miles of grass on which to land, it finds a tiny patch of sand.
Then has me offering up my soul: "Oh could you please get in the hole".
It's made me whimper like a pup and made me swear to give it up.
And take to drink to ease my sorrow; Oh Lord, why will I be back tomorrow?