Golf poem for the day

In my hand I hold a ball.... white and dimpled, rather small....

Oh , how bland it does appear.... this harmless looking little
sphere....

By its size I could not guess.... the awesome strength it does
possess....

But since I fell beneath it's spell.... I've wandered through the
fires of
hell..

My life has not been quite the same.... Since I chose to play this
stupid
game....

It rules my mind for hours on end... A fortune it has made me
spend....

It has made me swear and yell and cry.... I hate myself and want to
die....

It promises a thing called par.... If I can hit straight and far....

To master such a tiny ball.... should not be very hard at all .

But my desires the ball refuses.... and does exactly like it
chooses....

It hooks and slices, dribbles and dies.... and even disappears before
my
eyes....

Often it will take a whim.... to hit a tree or take a swim....

With miles of grass on which to land.... it finds a tiny patch of
sand....

Then has me offering up my soul.... if only it would find the hole....

It's made me whimper like a pup.... and swear that I will give it
up....

I take a drink to ease my sorrow.... but the ball knows..... I'll be
back
tomorrow!!!