Ode to Golf

by Greg Barense

Years ago I found a neat game.

Which seemed to be quite tranquil and tame.

It's played on grass so lush and green.

If your lawn was so nice it would make you beam.

Two hours per nine seems just nice.

An a score of 36 should nicely suffice.

A few key blows here an there.

And I'll be ready to play the Bear.

If you miss the ball and make a flub.

Just go out an buy a bigger club.

If your club don't work an you think they're fake.

Just look around and find a lake.

For Dad to play me I give him credit.

With my long ball he could easily dread it.

Curt, Doug, Dan, Chad, and Ryan.

I often leave each with tears a crying.

So if you see me stomping about.

If you notice on my face a pout.

If you call me to the tees of which were fond.

Sorry I can't, my clubs are in the pond.

Week after week I try with new vigor.

Only ending the day wanting to pull the trigger.

My wife won't allow sharp instrument, ropes, or gun.

So next week I can go out and have more fun.

I like the ponds, creeks, and woods each day.

If only I would hit the fairway.

The sand is so shiny, fluffy, and white.

Then why should it cause me so much fright.

Each week I go out with bravado anew.

Yet I usually end up in another stew.

I swear I'll never again play this crummy.

Then I won't have this pain in my tummy.

If I could find someone to beat.

I know I would find it to be quite neat.

I know someone a short ways away.

Wonder what CJ's doing today?

When they bury me 6 feet down.

My epitaph might say I'm a clown.

It might say I set the world on fire.

But when it comes to golf, he was a little liar.

The End.