Golf Poem

In my hand I hold a ball....white and dimpled, rather small....

 Oh , how bland it does appear....this harmless looking little sphere....

By its size I could not guess....the awesome strength it does possess....

But since I fell beneath it's spell....I've wandered through the fires of hell..

My life has not been quite the same....Since I chose to play this stupid game....

It rules my mind for hours on end...A fortune it has made me spend....

It has made me swear and yell and cry....I hate myself and want to die....

It promises a thing called par....If I can hit straight and far....

To master such a tiny ball....should not be very hard at all ....

But my desires the ball refuses....and does exactly like it chooses....

It hooks and slices, dribbles and dies....and even disappears before my eyes....

Often it will t ake a whim....to hit a tree or take a swim....

With miles of grass on which to land....it finds a tiny patch of sand....

Then has me offering up my soul....if only it would find the hole....

It's made me whimper like a pup....and swear that I will give it up....

And take a drink to ease my sorrow....

but the ball knows..... I'll be back tomorrow!!!!