Poetry Archives

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 done
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 HOLED IN ONE.’