The clubs are my brushes the courses are my empty spaces
Coloring with wide draws and drooping fades
I sweep in a birdie as my friend counts his paces
I yearn for the roars and the smiles on their faces

When I was young and a day was thirty six not twenty four
Now I am done in nine I wish I could play more
But tomorrow I will paint on a new canvas with a new score
Some say it a nice walk spoiled, I couldn't ask for anything more