A few minutes thinking about golf, he often stole. She felt his mind was perched, on some ‘grassy knoll’! To look at her, you saw eyes of ‘burning coal’! But his were shut…as ‘ball dropped in hole’!
She figured that if she cooked his ‘fav’
He’d at least pay attention. (Pretend to rave)! Despite best efforts, she could not stave
The ‘brick road’ he was on, with golf balls, was paved!
With a smile on his face, his demeanor was lax She couldn’t believe the ‘punch’ that golf packs! To the course, after work, he’d always make tracks! Often to those clubs, she wanted to take an axe!
More to her, she felt, he could be loyal.
He missed all clues, (even when her temper boiled!) And wrath ‘grew strong’, in the rich ‘angry soil’! Thinking of ‘plans’. (This golf, to foil).
On the table went the pot roast, straight from the oven. She’d prepared it with care. (Packed it with lovin’). She wouldn’t give up. (Her dedication was stubborn) But by the golf game on TV, his attention was governed’!