Flight of fancy
The green looked so smooth,
I was in Augusta. So green, it
was Irish. Would my luck hold?
Steady, concentrate on the ball!
The faithfull rubber grip never failed
me as I swung through the ball. My back
arched perfectly and
I knew it would be sweet.
The ball sky-rocketed heavenward
as it went into the clouds.
You couldn’t see it
against the whiteness and then,
it magically dropped on to the carpet and rolled
towards the hole. Another perfect shot, on
a perfect day.