Sunday, Father Ed called in sick, <br />And went out to play golf instead. <br />A course far from home he did pick <br />Where no one would know Father Ed. <br />And all by himself, he did play, <br />To further hide the fact, no doubt, <br />What he was up to on Sunday, <br />No one but him would know about. <br />Four hundred yards was the first hole. <br />Father Ed teed up and then struck. <br />The ball did fly and then did roll <br />At the pin, in the cup - what luck! <br /> <br />Sometimes golf can make one's life hell. <br />Hole in one, but who could he tell?<br /><br />Ima Ryma<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/sunday-sin/
