The Golfer Poem by PAUL COLVIN

The golfer ambles ‘round the course as though out for a walk
Yet tries to do this quickly by taking fewest shots.
The club he has within his grip is like a metal pole
With a metal lump upon the end and this is called a wood!

He saunters up, stands by the ball, which sits upon a tee
And then he sets his feet in place and shakes his man-size hips
Then he’ll set his chin in place and flexes down his knees,
Now this is called addressing the ball, although he never speaks!

He mustn’t move his head at all, with eyes fixed on the ball
He clasps his hand around his wood and plays three dummy shots
Then pulls his arms slowly round to stop at one o’clock
He lingers there, a perfect pose; to me he looks contorted!

With shoulders, chest and feet aligned all aiming at the flag
He mustn’t move his head at all, with eyes fixed on the ball
He’ll then unleash his downward swing but keeps his left arm straight
This motion’s linked to poetry but he’s not finished yet!

His hips must be in front of arms before the ball is struck
And left heel in line with the ball, still raised upon the tee.
The weights now passed to his left leg to give him extra power
All this and more you must get right before contact is made!

But even once you’ve hit the thing, you have to follow through
For if you don’t, your strength’s been lost and all before’s in vain.
So if you see a golfer, whose head’s about to burst, take pity on him please
He’s probably on his second shot and cursing balls and tees!