Green Peace - Poem by Linda Ori
The golfer stands upon the green
with putter in his hand,
the flag is waving in the breeze -
he's made it past the sand;
He checks the slope and calculates
the distance to the cup,
assumes the stance, remembering......
look at the ball, not up;
It's not that far, a piece of cake
to sink it in the hole,
a practice swing, a gentle tap,
the ball begins to roll
gently forward, now it curves
along the emerald grass,
but will it drop into that little
hole......you bet your ass!
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