I'm in a fair way to go mad For round about me golfers shriek, And I can't understand, I'll add, The golfing cleek. My eyes get brassie when they broach That subject, each one of the clan Just seems to me, on his approach, A bogie man. I cannot foursome to be still For they are under such a thrall That, lacking audience, they will Address the ball. What's that? You say you're weary too Of all this golfiac hot air? Comrade in pain, I welcome you Just putter there! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...LAMENT FOR [THE DEATH OF] THOMAS DAVIS by SAMUEL FERGUSON A PETITION by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH RING FROM THE RIM OF THE GLASS, BOYS by JOHN CLINTON ANTHONY SONNETS OF MANHOOD: 16. VENUS INCARNATE by GEORGE BARLOW (1847-1913) BRITANNIA'S PASTORALS: BOOK 2. THE THIRD SONG by WILLIAM BROWNE (1591-1643) TO A SWALLOW BUILDING UNDER THE EAVES [AT CRAIGENPUTTOCK] by JANE WELSH CARLYLE |