My sixth really travelled, to the right though I fear
Struck a tree then bounced backwards, but fell in the clear.
My seventh, a downhill, with a following breeze
Went way past the target to land in some trees.
My eighth was my nemesis, the one that I feared
With a pond full of water where my hopes disappeared.
My ninth was the final, all on this might depend
Drive, pitch, pitch and putt and par 4 at the end.
And then for the reckoning, a-totting the score
I came last once again, but I’ll be back for more!
My first was in earnest, as it mattered right then
My hopes were instantly shattered, what a way to begin!
My second was better, or that’s just what I thought
(But if only my short game was a little less fraught).
My third was a beezer, quite the best of the year
A sweet little birdie, (not so many round here).
My fourth a disaster, too much pride I suppose
I sliced it, I lost it, but that’s how it goes.
My fifth was a beauty, she soared in the air
Great joy, one more birdie was flying right there.