Call Of The Ball Poem by Ima Ryma

I knew he had the ball to win,
And of course that ball 'twould be me.
He does the shots, I do the spin,
A winning combination be.
'Twas on the fifteenth green we wowed.
No floopty - doopty flop would do.
He hit me right - I was so proud.
A hopped up grasshopper, I flew
A jumping straight in the air up,
Then plop stop three feet from the hole.
He then putted me in the cup.
Together to a win we'd roll.

But next day, he made the wrong call,
And grabbed some other loser ball.