Still Hoping – Golf Poetry

STILL HOPING 
WHEN I attempt a practice swing 
And 'round my head the driver bring, 
The club seems like a living thing, 
Responding gladly ; 
But when the ball before me lies, 
(A dimpled object 'neath my eyes), 
I swing — and much to my surprise, 
I foozle badly. 




In dreams I play the course in par! 
My drives are certain, straight and far! 
My brassies do not leave a scar, 
My putts are wonders I 
And yet when through the green I go, 
I dub and flub and pufF and blow; 
My play — it always happens so — 
Is full of blunders. 
From driving tee to putting green 
The way lies clear. 'Twere easy seen 
If no ill luck should intervene, 
The hole I'd capture; 
But, never keeping in the course, 
My ball seeks ditch and trap and gorse, 
Filling my soul with sad remorse, 
Instead of rapture. 
Filled Aivith the golfer's sturdy hope, 
I tread the valley, mount the slope. 
And with all difficulties cope. 
In grim decision ; 
I'd like to make a bogey four. 
But, sad to tell, an eight or more 
Will be recorded on my score 
To haunt my vision. 




Still I shall not give up the game! 
Some day I'll wear a wreath of fame, 
And in the Golfer find my name. 
Set down a winner. 
I'll lay the tuneful lyre away. 
Give me my clubs ! Again I'll play. 
And make a seventy-nine today, 
Or I'm a sinner ! 
Henry Litchfield West in Lyrics of the Links, published in 1921

Henry Litchfield West (1859 – 1940) was an American journalist and politician. He served as the political editor of the Washington Post.

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