The Game – Golf Poetry

THE GAME 
I PLACE a brand new ball upon the tee, 
With mighty swing I hit the thing away, 
And as it sinks into the bracken sea, 
I murmur to the ball, "Good day." 




I watch another with a well-worn ball. 
And half my tutored skill, send it in flight, 
To eat the distance in its rise and fall, 
And murmur to myself, "Good night." 
Oh, what's the use? I play and pay and pay. 
Each time I play I almost want to cry; 
And so I think I'll put my clubs away, 
And murmur to the game, "Good-bye." 
But do I? Seek the answer in the rough; 
Let hazards speak and bunkers tell of strife. 
As long as golfing trees bear nuts enough 
I'll be an also-ran — you bet your life. 




John Campbell Hayward.