today played golf with dad <br />worst game i'd ever had <br />one hundred on front fine <br />one hundred on back nine <br />boy i started to get mad <br /> <br />want another round <br />my dad well browned <br />psyching myself up <br />wanting name on a cup <br />then i began to astound <br /> <br />swinging, stance, perfect hit <br />swinging, stance, perfect split <br />whack after whack <br />now i had the knack <br />hitting tiniest blue tit (for a birdie) <br /> <br />then i struck a eagle <br />dad called me a weasel <br />there rare in our country <br />we sat for lunch hungry <br />on way home need diesel <br /> <br />after lunch started again <br />farting sandwich whole grain <br />in front were a couple <br />who gave out a chuckle <br />names glenn and jane <br /> <br />swinging, stance, perfect start <br />swinging, stance, perfect fart <br />whack after whack <br />now i had the knack <br />FOUR glenn and jane extra art <br /> <br />doing extra twelve holes whacked <br />thought it time to retract <br />thinking no cup for me <br />headed over to our last tee <br />hole in one sheer fact <br />(cough)<br /><br />lee fones<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/days-golf/
