The dew-covered grass

February 7, 2008
By
The dew-covered grass
And chilled morning air,
Present a soft early glimpse
At God's wondrous world.

Yawns heard allover
And stretching far from rare,
As teams crawl out of vans
To prepare for the round ahead.

No words yet spoken
As I take my first swing,
And ponder what's to come
Victory or defeat?

The round plays on
Without much said by myself;
Still I turn my card in
And ponder why oh why...

Who was crazy enough to invent golf?





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