Ode to Golf

Dare  you  compare it to a country walk?

Dismissed by some a sadly  wasted day,

But this of course is ill informed, the talk

Of those ne’er to have shared the joy of play,

Or felt that surge of pleasure at the smack

Of club on ball as it soars through the sky,

A show of perfect symmetry in air,

To land with satisfying thump on track

And roll on line  to find the perfect lie.

And they have  never had to wonder why

Such planetary alignments are so rare.

We happily delude ourselves, we thought

Social participation was the key

when we forgot all that  we have been taught

and happy were just standing on the tee.

But then of course we hit that perfect shot

And strong competing  juices flow once more

A winning round  becomes a real chance

We tell ourselves our putter’s running hot

Try in vain   to not focus on the score

As in our private dreams we hear the roar

And  sense that magic zone : golf in a trance.

Dismissed by some as,  simply,  just a game

adherents know it carries greater weight;

life without golf would never be the same,

ones form is permanently mixed with fate.

We seek new tricks to fix that dreadful hook

One special club to cure that fatal slice

A better  standard ball to help us cope

With all the challenges we need to brook

And understand we have to pay the price

Implicit in the way the game entice

Us to that lush green course, eternal hope.

A gorgeous black hound is our Ocky

Who loves Brecon and Mel and his rocky

But he swallowed that brick

And became very sick

So NO MORE ROCKY FOR  OCKY!