DEAR little Willie takes the ball And lightly lays it on the tee; They say he was thirteen last fall, But oh, to putt as well as he! His face from whiskers still is free — He drives! Behold the gutty go! It was a man's game once — ah me, The boys are laying Bogie low. There's Eddie, whose brown arms are small, Whose shoulders barely reach your knee, Whose rocking-horse stands in the hall, Who has just learned his A, B, C — He has a stroke that all agree Is better than the experts show; He drives the ball far o'er the lea — The boys are laying Bogie low. They've left their marbles, tops, and all The other toys that used to be So dear to boyish heart; they sprawl No more beneath the greenwood tree; But each child takes a gallery, Applauding, round the course — they know The royal game from A to Z — The boys are laying Bogie low. @3L'Envoi@1 Friend, are no glories left that we May claim who use the razor? Oh, Hark to their childish shouts of glee — The boys are laying Bogie low! |