Over golfers’ new drivers, he’d often drool
(It made others cringe, as it started to pool).
Passed time he got rid of his rusty ‘tool’
The thought gave him a warm feeling. (Like being wrapped in wool).
He’d play this game on fields of wheat (Even on gravel, this would be a treat!) Maybe on new ‘turf’, golfers should meet (Who’s to say that wouldn’t be sweet)!
He was so ‘coupled’ to golf, you might as well throw rice! It caused an ‘itch’ he had to ‘scratch’ (like lice)! To his bland life, it added some ‘spice’
It’s a real shame, his golf game’s on ‘ice’!
Being on the green his adrenaline would ‘amp’ ”Golfer for life!’, near his name, you could stamp! He loved it so much, he’d play by ‘lamp’! Driving rain could not, his spirits, damp!
He thought his putter was as cute as a fawn. (Especially while lying (next to it) on the lawn!) He could stare at it ‘til the coming of dawn This was a real possibility, others warned.