Golfing--a poem

Golfing

Oh, to split a fairway in the middle,
with a ball hit like a rope!
Alas, for me it's but a riddle,
with no answer, with no hope!

I took heed of all the lessons,
and read up on all the books,
with expectation of golf's blessings,
elimination of my hooks!

But, despite my efforts to succeed,
my balls just don't take flight,
unless to areas well treed,
and into darkness as the night!

I'm told to keep my elbow straight,
and swing so very slow,
but then it seems the club is late,
and makes a glancing blow!

So, then I deign to speed my pace,
and make a mighty slash,
a grimace set upon my face,
my ball sails left, and splash!

The game of golf seems just like life,
a challenge to the will,
an occupation filled with strife,
where every drive's uphill!

Each round seems like a painful birth,
of some new found disaster!
One wonders if it's ever worth,
returning to the pasture!

But here I am, up on the tee,
with great anticipation!
Perhaps today will be for me,
a game of exclamation!

Mark Worden
Encinitas
9/15/05