Co-authored with the late, great Dennis Hammes:
(picture the poet holding a driver & brassie in hand)
Talking with Woods on a Frosty Evening
Whose woods are these? I think I know.
He plays at Rolling Valley, though.
He'll never see me swinging here
where scores decline and stories grow.
My caddy thinks it's downright queer:
we play without the crowds that cheer
and then correct each dumb mistake
before we drink another beer.
He gives the pin a little shake,
But I will take the time I take.
The bunker's wide, the green is steep;
the dogleg runs along the lake.
The water's lovely, dark and deep
but I have balls I care to keep
and holes to go before I weep,
and holes to go before I weep.
-o-
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