A Lesson from Golf

January 3, 2008

He couldn’t use his driver any better on the tee
Than the chap that he was licking, who just
happened to be me ;
I could hit them with a brassie just as straight
and just as far,
But I piled up several sevens while he made a
few in par;
And he trimmed me to a finish, and I know the
reason why:
He could keep his temper better when he dubbed
a shot than I.
His mashie stroke is choppy, without any follow
through ;
I doubt if he will ever, on a short hole, cop a
two,
But his putts are straight and deadly, and he
doesn’t even frown
When he’s tried to hole a long one and just fails
to get it down.
On the fourteenth green I faded; there he put
me on the shelf,
And it’s not to his discredit when I say I licked
myself.
He never whined or whimpered when a shot of
his went wrong;
Never kicked about his troubles, but just plodded
right along.
When he flubbed an easy iron, though I knew
that he was vexed,
He merely shrugged his shoulders, and then
coolly played the next,
While I flew into a frenzy over every dub I
made
And was loud in my complaining at the dismal
game I played.
Golf is like the game of living; it will show up
what you are;
If you take your troubles badly you will never
play to par.
You may be a fine performer when your skies
are bright and blue
But disaster is the acid that shall prove the worth
of you;
So just meet your disappointments with a cheery
sort of grin,
For the man who keeps his temper is the man
that’s sure to win.

Posted in The Path to Home