i'm busy picking black berries
when golf ball graze the treetop
it hits the pine close to where
i am and landed on the ditch
curious geese came to look
roll it with their beak to a nook
i'm waiting for anybody to claim
nobody ever did; maybe ashamed
so many balls has wandered here
they are orphans; waiting for rain
so they will shine and to be seen
to roll on the fairway into the green
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem