By Jim Corbett
I shot a golf ball into the air,
It fell to earth I know not where.
Straight at the sun, I did not look,
Did I whap it with my slice? … or hook?
So, swiftly in my cart I ride
And search the course from side to side.
I probe the woods, the creek, the burrow,
I’ll keep searching for it till tomorrow.
The groups behind me all must wait
While I determine what’s my fate.
They holler, shout and curse and call
That I should stop and drop a ball.
So through my golf bag pockets I fiddle,
Wait! There’s my ball! It’s in the middle!
This game of golf is surely cruel.
What they really need is a 5-minute rule!