Ode to the Golfer.

There are so many different shades of green,

The variances of shades that hide unseen,

The iguana uses the technique and goes in the forest from tree to tree

Eating bugs like the invisible intruder in the dense wood that we see.

 

A green macaw sounds off in the lush vegetation,

Marking off his territory without a moment of hesitation,

The green boa slithers up the tree and reaches for the sky,

Azure blue with streaks of clouds flying by.

 

But there is no green man, no Irish imp sitting on a stump,

No man who can grant wishes for you, sitting on his rump,

No this is made up and therefore an imagination run rampant,

A man who can grant wishes for you would make you triumphant.

 

You will have to rely on your own work and wit,

For it to make the green will take skill and luck and a strong hit.

Par on brother man with his hideous pants and teed ball,

The green will come when you make that fore call.

 

And that hole in one, a feat few can state they have gotten,

A shot that remains in the record books and cannot be forgotten,

A shot for the ages, a shot of great measure.

Man of the green with the irons of pleasure.

May you have the game roll of seven.

An eagle apiece for nine legs of heaven.