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...THE CHAPERON by HENRY CUYLER BUNNER SALLY IN OUR ALLEY by HENRY CAREY (1687-1743) THE SUN GOD by AUBREY THOMAS DE VERE NATURE (2) by RALPH WALDO EMERSON THE INDIAN BURYING GROUND by PHILIP FRENEAU THE CUMBERLAND [MARCH 8, 1862] by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW |