Golf poetry

Icepickle

Got this in an e-mail the other day. Thought it was quite good.
I'm sure most people will identify with it.

In My Hand I Hold A Ball,
White And Dimpled, Rather Small.
Oh, How Bland It Does Appear,
This Harmless Looking Little Sphere..
By It's Size I Could Not Guess,
The Awesome Strength It Does Possess.
But Since I Fell Beneath Its 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 Yell, Curse And Cry, I Hate Myself And Want To Die.
It Promises A Thing Called Par,
If I Can Hit It 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 As It Chooses.
It Hooks And Slices, Dribbles And Dies, And Even Disappears Before
My Eyes.
Often It Will Have 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 To Drink To Ease My Sorrow, But The Ball Knows ... I'll
Be Back Tomorrow.

Stand proud you noble swingers of clubs and losers of balls...
A recent study found the average golfer walks about 900 miles a
year.
Another study found golfers drink, on average, 22 gallons of
alcohol a year.
That means, on average, golfers get about
41 miles to the gallon.
Kind of makes you proud. Almost feel like a hybrid.

copacetic

How straight it flew, how long it flew,
It clear'd the rutty track
And soaring, disappeared from view
Beyond the bunker's back -
A glorious, sailing, bounding drive
That made me glad I was alive.

And down the fairway, far along
It glowed a lonely white;
I played an iron sure and strong
And clipp'd it out of sight,
And spite of grassy banks between
I knew I'd find it on the green.

And so I did. It lay content
Two paces from the pin;
A steady putt and then it went
Oh, most surely in.
The very turf rejoiced to see
That quite unprecedented three.

Ah! Seaweed smells from sandy caves
And thyme and mist in whiffs,
In-coming tide, Atlantic waves
Slapping the sunny cliffs,
Lark song and sea sounds in the air
And splendour, splendour everywhere.

Icepickle

Hmmm. I suspect you're a better golfer than me then.:)