Going forward with every shot,

Over obstacles, the green you sought.

Looking ahead to each new swing,

Following your ball as it takes wing.

Gripping the shaft, your shot you prepare,

Opened eyes locked with a stare.

Loosely you stroke that little white sphere,

Forward to the hole it does not veer.

Gracefully you bend to retrieve your ball,

Ovations surround you, your name they call.

Lifted hands you thank them, and he above,

For giving you a sport, to play and to love

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