I got up
early Sunday morning, wondering what to do,
had dropped, the air was still, the grass awash with dew;
idea formed in this brain of mine, bubbling up from the source,
idea on a perfect day: a round at the Meeniyan course.
the dust from the old golf clubs, and hurried on out to the car,
of the world I travelled the road, Meeniyan wasn't too far;
past Yanakie, still asleep, and tore past the Black Swamp Track,
Creek dozed as I hurried on through, the sun coming up at my back.
on the course, with the grass so green, I teed off with nary a care,
watched as my ball sailed off down the hill and into the bunker there.
and I swung as the day passed by, as I fumbled from fairway to green,
eighth I near cried after losing my ball in the biggest lake I've ever
worse was to come, and I wish that I'd quit, I fumed and I prayed and I
from the tenth with a beautiful slice and ended up back on the first!
twelfth was a ripper, I got to the green with a drive that was lovely to
took me six putts and my Ping putter died as I smashed it in half on my
fourteenth my chance of an ace was real good, but just as my swing
reached its peak,
fool with a tractor roared past the course and my ball ended up in the
I got to
the last, all tattered and torn and I hoped it would all soon be over,
shanked at the green and broke the windscreen of a shiny new V8 Land
And so I
drove home, feeling sorry and sad,
go to Meeniyan next week -
got no clubs, they're still at the course
three feet of mud - in the creek!
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