Jokes and Other stuff

Something for the Golfer

In my hand I hold a ball, white and dimpled, rather small,

Oh, how bland it doth appear, this harmless-looking little sphere.

By its size I could not guess, the awesome power it doth possess,

But since I fell beneath its spell, I’ve wandered through the fires of hell.

My life has not been quite the same since I took up this wretched game.

It rules my mind for hours on end; a fortune it has made me spend.

It has made me yell, curse and cry; I hate myself and want to die.

It promises a thing called Par if I can hit it straight, and far.

To master such a tiny ball should not be very hard at all

But my desires the ball refuses and does exactly as it chooses.

It hooks and slices, dribbles and dies, and disappears before my eyes.

Often it will have a whim to hit a tree or take a swim.

With miles of grass on which to land it finds a tiny patch of sand,

Then has me offering up my Soul if only it would find the hole.

It’s made me whimper like a pup and swear that I will give it up

And take to drink to ease my sorrow but the ball knows … I’ll be back


‘Liberated’ from a recent article by Ivan Morris

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