The Grand Old Game
...to my grandfather, Charlie Hebert,
with respect and affection RIP
Wind-swept and sunburnt alone
on the course he fusses and frets
with his lie; he's been here for ever
commanding the links, ever since
you and I were knee high.
Golf is his passion, he lives and he
breathes for the chance to play just
one more round, replacing his divots,
observing the rules and keeping
his feet on the ground.
Always nattily dressed he is ready
to tee up and go for the green;
the young guns are anxious to unseat
old Charlie, but he's crafty
and wily and mean.
It's the day of the championship
and he's all set to teach those young men
how to play; at the turn he's ahead
with a three under par, he'll show them
how great shots are made.
On the final hole two men are tied
for the lead, they are edgy as each
eyes the pin; Jim misses his putt,
it goes wide to the left, and Charlie
makes par for the win.
In the clubhouse they congratulate
the old boy on his score, he thanks them
from the bottom of his heart;
here's to Charlie then, to bunkers,
to bad lies and to rain, to another shot at glory
when they climb aboard the cart!
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
