Roy Parfitt
He knows better – than to storm and curse
As poorly as he’s playing – it could be worse
Golf’s hard to figure – he knows that’s true
Then that perfect shot – comes out of the blue
As does that slice – or duck hook pull
Like a beautiful woman – who treats him cruel
Then cuddles up – to caress his cheek
Just before he shanks one – into the creek
Across the green – his poor putt skips
Then right at the hole – his poor putt slips
Go figure – he mumbles – his ego scarred
And pencils a snowman – on his card
He loves playing well – and the feeling it brings
Other times his best shots – are his practice swings
He understands fully – no one else is to blame
He knows himself better – since he took up the game
He’s learned that profanity – won’t change a balls flight
And silently watches – as it disappears from sight
But when problems and turmoil – are ruining his day
He’ll pick up his clubs – and they all go away
He’s heard golf is like life – whatever that means
He doesn’t believe it – it’s more complicated it seems
If praying would help – he would try and appease
The Golf Gods by spending – eighteen holes on his knees
But at the end of the day – it’s not how many – but how
How did he get – to where he is now
How did he conduct himself – while playing the game
Will they think him a gentleman – and remember his name
He knows a true golfer – doesn’t dwell on his score
But looks forward to tomorrow – and what’s even more
Understands golf – is not heaven or hell
But an opportunity to live life – and to live it well