Ode to a Golf Ball


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Ode to a Golf Ball

by Duffer Shank and Goody Percha

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 its spell,

I've wandered through the fires of hell.

My life has not been quite the same,

since I chose 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 a tiny ball,

should not be very hard at all.

But my desires the ball refuses,

and does exactly what 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. It also has me

off'ring 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.

Ba'al Chatzaf (who has not played golf in fifty years).

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Golf - a waste of a good walk. :D

When I was 13 I whacked a golf ball up and down the street a few times. I'd do it again but the street has turned into a major thorough-fare.

I like some putt-putt on an interesting course.

--Brant

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