The ‘cloud’ that hung over his head, was often black This golf game mercilessly gave him flack! At times he wondered if he could hack
The obstacles that lay along this game’s ‘track’.
To get to the ‘honey’, you deal with the ‘stings’ Golf, around his eyes, had put a few ‘rings’. And took delight, in pulling his ‘strings’ Never-the-less, he seemed to savor these things.
To get to the top, seemed a ‘sky filled with pies’ ”Many say the game is easy….LIES!”
It loves to trip you up. (His shoe laces ‘it often ties’!) People miles away, could hear the anguished cries!
So the flames of desire, he needed to stoke Also, not a bad idea, his ego to stroke.
’Cause he couldn’t look to other folk
To be a steady source of encouragement. (Like some great oak).
Golf seemed to play a trick on him. (Some intricate ruse
Entrance to the top spot, it always refused. ’Obstacles in his path’ , obscured his view But he knew he had the power to choose.