These thoughts, of course, were all tongue-in-cheek Courses needed traps, like birds needed beaks! Say that now. (But when you’re game starts to wreak) You’ll change your tune. (When your eyes start to ‘leak’!)
The rush it gives you. (You love the ‘taste’!)
The power and passion surge, as the challenge you face! The golf game’s slow. (And you make no haste) As repeatedly, on this course, the same path you trace!
On many occasions, you gave an outburst (You’ve made an art of ways to curse)! Bogeys on the eighteenth, were always the worst But never seem to ‘quench your thirst’!
So much frustration, from such a small ball! Why couldn’t he CONTROL where it falls?! Those ruffs, always caused the golf game to ‘stall’ At the end, he’s no longer, walking tall!
It beat him again. (Like some clueless tot) But occasional good games, improved his ‘lot’. Even if he scraped from the bottom of the ‘pot’ It’s always sweeter, once you’ve ‘fought’!