Deep within himself, he’d have to look
Behind every rock. In every single nook. To find the secret, that would allow him to ‘cook’ That would propel him into the record books.
Would failure, again, beat him to the punch? Would failure, again, eat his ‘lunch’? Savoring every bite. (Continuing to ‘munch’). Eating noisily, with every ‘crunch’!
Was this entire sport simply beyond his reach? Did he not understand it’s language? It’s speech? Though he clung to it like a pond leach
The going was tricky. (Like gulping down a peach!)
Despite his best efforts, the golf game held the ‘chair’. And seemed to make sure, he couldn’t see his way clear. ’Singling’ him out, to a life of ‘despair’
Unless the ‘holes’ in his performance, could be repaired.
Couldn’t blame anyone. (Not even dumb luck). That his chip shot needed work. (And his putting sucked)! It just got worse, as a speeding truck
Was ‘kind enough’, to splash him with muck!