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.'
