He’d do virtually anything to advance
But one thing was clear. (It wouldn’t happen by chance). The knight would fight to the end. (Continue to swing his lance).
His work ethic, he’d have to enhance.
Competitors sought to cream him like wheat.
They’d try to hit where it hurts. (To knock him on his seat) But one would fold after another. (Like skirt pleats) After the dust settled, amazingly enough, he still looked neat!
A good score, he liked to play close to the vest Let others boast that they were the best.
Every obstacle in his path was a test
”Me, give up during the hard times?.…Surely, you jest!”
Straight to the course, after work, he’d zoom He’d play with anybody. (No matter with whom). And be there so long, twilight would loom
The course often brightened, by the light of the moon.
Sometimes he’d join late games. Many in the lead. One by one, he’d ‘pluck’ them up. (Each ‘golfer weed’). Though he forewarned, they did not heed
That on each of their leading spots, he’d ‘feed!’