What beckons us now regarding this game?
Small cups are set out on green fields to be tamed.
Dimpled spheres are oft found so dicey to sink,
wee sum is the goal that does not awful stink.
Today we shall conquer this rolling green land,
by swinging thin sticks as grasped in both hands.
Offers solid fine proof to this gallant four-some,
that our links-gaming skills are not now succumbed.
Play thirty-six holes 'tis a happy day's plan!
Found too many moments in this wretched beach sand.
Eighteen is enough! Now in water, then woods,
ball slicing and hooking caused scoring not good.
What drives these old Duffers? Sad tallies are great!
On those frequent stout journeys to self-flagellate.
High grass and tough carpet cause grueling concerns,
but in a couple short hours we shall plan our return.
What is it that calls us regarding this game?
Woods, waters, and weather make fit men less sane.
Exercise, fellowship, or try out your new toys?
Rewards at Nineteenth! And good play with fond boys.
A golf poem by ex-player DJ Paul
Original version publication date, March 10, 2010
as "Holes Amid Green Fields"
Edited, enhanced, and re-published by author, March 27, 2023
with the new title "Cups Amidst Green Lands"
Not copyrighted, unaltered free use is granted (without additional permission) to volunteer, non-profit, or not-for-profit educational and/or charitable activity.
