The sand traps bothered him. (He hated those grains!) Like salt crystals to the eyes, (Each one offered pain). Unfortunately into these traps, his golf balls would usually ‘rain’
He’d just have to push through it. Just have to train.
”These caps should be bigger. They don’t give much shade!”
And it’s often a hastle, through this humidity, to wade. But from those golf clubs, his hands could not be stayed. So those little problems, he decided to bade.
Scoring his play wasn’t always pleasant. (He hated the tally). If only he could get it out of the ‘sand trap alley!’ Or worse yet…THE RUFF VALLEY!
Where many of his shots were ‘eaten.’ (Like in some pirate’s galley!
All the polishing didn’t work. (His golf game showed ‘decay). He puts all into it…effort on full array.
Afterwards, a hose dealt with the sweat. (He needed a spray;
Those around him agreed. (“Without delay!”)
He would push as high as he could…a ‘golf supernova’. Dig as deep as he could. (A ‘golf super-gopher’!) He knew this attitude would take him ‘over’.
This wasn’t a vacation cruise. (He isn’t a boater).