Ball Hawking

I roam the edge of the roughs, ponds 'n streams
For illusive precious golf spheres per chance
Long looks through silt sifting for glints it seems
That make themselves appear to start the dance
Bits of dimpled light that want once again
Away from their sunken settled dark place
To take full flight across the verdant glen
And put a simple smile on one's bright face

For when you find a lost ball, dearest friend
They share great joys and awful torrid tears
What begins anew from someone else's end
Those round companions can go on for years
So live 'n walk ever searching to gawk
The vagary life of the true Ball Hawk


Copyright © Greg Gaul | Year Posted 2021

Tuesday, May 11, 2021
Topic(s) of this poem: golf,grass
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