Dare you compare it to a country walk? <br />Dismissed by some a sadly wasted day, <br />But this of course is ill informed, the talk <br />Of those ne’er to have shared the joy of play, <br />Or felt that surge of pleasure at the smack <br />Of club on ball as it soars through the sky, <br />A show of perfect symmetry in air, <br />To land with satisfying thump on track <br /> Then roll and roll to find that perfect lie. <br />But why are such experiences so rare? <br /> <br />We happily delude ourselves, pretend <br />Just being out there, playing is the key, <br /> when everything we try seems to descend <br />to slicing, hooking, drop kicks off the tee. <br />But then of course we hit that perfect shot <br />And strong competing juices flow once more <br />Hopes for a winning round no longer blown <br />We tell ourselves our putter’s running hot <br />Try in vain to not focus on the score <br />And sense that magic space: we’re in the zone! <br /> <br />Dismissed by some as, simply, just a game, <br />We golfers know it’s something more profound; <br />A metaphor for life, a course to tame, <br />The endless quest to play that perfect round. <br />We seek new tricks to fix that dreadful hook, <br />One special club, new model, latest version <br />A better standard ball to help us cope, <br />And a new wardrobe to achieve that look. <br />However terrible our last excursion. <br />We always start each new round full of hope.<br /><br />Les Littleford<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/ode-to-golf/
