Fore! It Is Spring     

A balmy breeze, a hint of Spring
Golfers all prepare to swing
And they'll persist 'til late in fall
When autumn leaves will shroud the ball

Though I admit to swings I flub
I treasure each and every club
I love to hit the ball and shout
"Fore" though there's no shred of doubt
That those in front have naught to fear
From any shot I try to steer

And when I step upon the green
I act like all the pros I've seen
I stoop and squint and calculate
Then hit and trust to luck or fate
And if perchance I make the cup
I nonchantly straighten up
With much politeness step aside
Whilst hoping all my shot had eyed

Then as the sun begins to fade
And now the 18th hole's been played
We doff the weary golfer's role
To liven up the 19th hole!