Originally published 2005
We choose to take the driver instead of the fairway wood
We speed along the twisting concrete path like a wise guy
We hastily spring out from the speedy buggy in a hurry
We all fear that resident idiot behind howling fore!
We would even look for that darn ball right into the bushes
Like an infatuated hunter looking for its hiding prey
We would be gratified when we finally found it
But then curse abruptly when we see a big tree hampering it
Well like an idiot we choose to hit it as it lies
When we could have just simply opt for a penalty drop
And safely put the darn ball back in play
But no, we all wanna be a hero
Like a fool we say to ourselves, no guts, no glory
Yet in the end to our own discontent and folly
We would miserably be in limbo stuck in the bushes
Painstakingly we remain to struggle frantically
It really seem hopeless trying to hit that darn ball
But then again when we finally hit it we were doomed
The darn ball had haplessly hit the big tree
Bouncing it back much farther into the bushes
We would then yell, squeal and throw our club
Knowing that we have utterly loss the darn ball
Surely now we are much worse off then we were before
We will now be hitting five instead of three
Poem courtesy of Fazli Zainal Abidin
Comments