Kenneth Cheney Poet Rhyme

Golf

Sticks bewitched by fairies’ play;
They often lead my ball astray;
The woods much easier for to find;
Than grand fairways of greenery fine;

Of this there can be no doubt;
Golf balls are related to trout;
For every time I play a round,
Into the water my ball is bound.

Maybe it’s bass or perch they seek;
Either way they find the drink;
Sand on a beach, now that is fine;
But in a fairway, is a crime;

It cannot be my skills are amiss;
For many other’s hit shots like this;
I think I know who to blame;
The Scot’s invented this blessed game.

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Andrew Fairchild May 21, 2020 at 12:04 AM Oh, this is great! I was laughing all the way through. Thank You! Kenneth Cheney May 22, 2020 at 9:10 AM Thanks Andrew, I try to keep a sense of humor about my golf game.

Gershon Wolf May 20, 2020 at 8:53 PM Enjoyed this and related to it totally. I think my clubs were fashioned in Africa, as my drives often landed in jungle-thick rough. lol. Thanks, Kenneth. :) gw Kenneth Cheney May 22, 2020 at 9:09 AM I love playing golf, but it can be frustrating at times.