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The windmill spins;
   The sunshine pours;
The game begins;
   We're keeping scores.

I bank a shot;
   It's on the roll;
And putt-putt-***!
   It's in the hole!

A birdie flies.
   I shoot a hen,
And agonize
   A hole in ten.

I lose the game
   And have a ball.
My only aim
   Was golfing small.

— The End —