Poem for golfers

[gpssin]

>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 its 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 yell, curse and cry,
>I hate myself and want to die.
>It promises a thing called par
>if I can hit it 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 as it chooses.
>
>It hooks and slices, dribbles and dies,
>and even disappears before my very eyes.
>Often it will have 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 it 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 to drink to ease my sorrow
>but the ball knows... I'll be back tomorrow.
>
>- Anonymous

[musangking]

That about sums it up for me