Triumph
Why am I full of joy although It drizzles on the links?
Why am I buying Veuve Cliquot, And setting up the drinks?
Why stand I like a prince amid My pals and envy none?
Ye gods of golf!
Today I did A Hole in One.
I drove my ball to heaven high, It over-topped the hill;
I tried to guess how it would lie, If on the fairway still.
I climbed the rise, so sure I'd hit It straight towards the green:
I looked and looked,—no trace of it Was to be seen.
My partner putted to the pin, Then hoarse I heard him call;
And lo!
So snug the hole within Gleamed up my ball.
Yea, it was mine.
Oh what a thrill! What dandy drive I'd
By luck,—well, grant a little skill, I'd holed in one.
Say that my score is eighty odd, And though I won't give up,—Say that as round the course I plod, I never win a cup.
Say that my handicap's nineteen, And of my game make fun,
But holler: 'On the seventh green HE
ED IN
NE.'
Robert W Service
Other author posts
A Busy Man
This crowded life of God's good No man has relished more than I; I've been so goldarned busy livingI've never had the time to die So busy fishing, hunting, roving,
Wrestling Match
What guts he had, the Dago Who fought that Frenchman grim with guile; For nigh an hour they milled like mad, And mauled the mat in rare old style
The Spell of the Yukon
I wanted the gold, and I sought it, I scrabbled and mucked like a slave Was it famine or scurvy — I fought it; I hurled my youth into a grave
Your Poem
My poem may be yours In melody and tone, If in its rhythm you can readA music of your own; If in its pale woof you can
