A Golf Poem

In my hand I hold a ball....
white and dimpled, rather small....
Oh , how bland it does appear....
this harmless looking little sphere....

By its size I could not guess....
the awesome strength it does possess....
But since I fell beneath it's spell....
I've wandered through the fires of hell..

My life has not been quite the same....
Since I chose to play this stupid game....
It rules my mind for hours on end...
A fortune it has made me spend....

It has made me swear and yell and cry....
I hate myself and want to die....
It promises a thing called par....
If I can hit straight and far....

To master such a tiny ball....
should not be very hard at all .
But my desires the ball refuses....
and does exactly like it chooses....

It hooks and slices, dribbles and dies....
and even disappears before my eyes....
Often it will take a whim....
to hit a tree or take a swim....

With miles of grass on which to land...
it finds a tiny patch of sand....
Then has me offering up my soul....
if only it would find the hole....

It's made me whimper like a pup....
and swear that I will give it up....
And take a drink to ease my sorrow....
but the ball knows..... I'll be back tomorrow!!!

(Courtesy of Hermann. Original author unknown)