He couldn't use his driver any better on the tee Than the chap that he was licking, who just happened to be me; I could hit them with a brassie just as straight and just as far, But I piled up several sevens while he made a few in par; And he trimmed me to a finish, and I know the reason why: He could keep his temper letter when he dubbed a shot than I. His mashie stroke is choppy, without any follow through; I doubt if he will ever, on a short hole, cop a two, But his putts are straight and deadly, and he doesn't even frown When he's tried to hole a long one and just fails to get it down. On the fourteenth green I faded; there he put me on the shelf, And it's not to his discredit when I say I licked myself. He never whined or whimpered when a shot of his went wrong; Never kicked about his troubles, but just plodded right along. When he flubbed an easy iron, though I knew that he was vexed, He merely shrugged his shoulders, and then coolly played the next, While I flew into a frenzy over every dub I made And was loud in my complaining at the dismal game I played. Golf is like the game of living; it will show up what you are; If you take your troubles badly you will never play to par. You may be a fine performer when your skies are bright and blue But disaster is the acid that shall prove the worth of you; So just meet your disappointments with a cheery sort of grin, For the man who keeps his temper is the man that's sure to win. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ON DIGITAL EXTREMITIES by FRANK GELETT BURGESS THE BOROUGH: LETTER 22. POOR OF THE BOROUGH. PETER GRIMES by GEORGE CRABBE SONG OF NATURE by RALPH WALDO EMERSON DOWN THE MISSISSIPPI: 2. HEAT by JOHN GOULD FLETCHER NOCTURNAL SKETCH; BLANK VERSE IN RHYME by THOMAS HOOD THE MOURNER A LA MODE by JOHN GODFREY SAXE COLUMBUS [JANUARY, 1487] by LYDIA HUNTLEY SIGOURNEY |