Never on his golf clubs, would you ever find rust. He loved them too much. (You could call it lust). Not surprisingly, they didn’t collect dust. ’Cause nine holes of golf per day, were a must!
The ‘golfer’s aura’, he wore like a fleece
Extreme relaxation; someone at peace.
Every stroke of the ball, on his life, gave a new lease Would he ever quit? (Wonders never ceased).
The security guard, at the green, he’d always hound. For a late night game, or just one more round. After being thrown out, the gates he’d still pound He had no shame. (Loud begging would sound).
Any new golf course in the area, he’d eagerly acquaint. If rain fell that day, he’d almost faint!
Some would see this as funny. (In his mind, “It aint!”) It was like darkness covered his world. (Like some wretched paint!)
Everyone knew his love of golf wasn’t subtle. Never late to the course. (He’d always hustle). Through lines at the elevator, stoplights, traffic’s bustle
To get through this ‘soup’, would take some muscle!