i walk rest of fairway feeling great
getting closer to my second shot
look back at all those trees, doable
i saw it done before with such ease
i envy process, i thought it's tools
now i know it's total determination
i ask myself ' how long should i be
playing this game' many more years
it's writing poetry i don't know ending
i just keep on typing until i run out of
thought then i take rest to do it again
we hunger for that rush to feel human
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem