Golf Poem by Abhay Agarwal

Golf



The sound of golf balls clicking brings me joy.
The ball is flying like a soaring bird.
Yet walking hours throughout the burning course.
Too soon these days of golf come to an end.
The practice needed, is it worth the time?
Hit after hit the fun is drying up.
Depressing saying golf is not too fun.
Now this sport is not worth my precious time.
But yet when I remember our fun times.
The beauty of the nature we play on.
The beauty of the tune birds always sing
Quite short the season, precious is its span.
This sport is like a missing puzzle piece.
This is a segment of my mind and soul.

Friday, June 8, 2018
Topic(s) of this poem: sonnet
COMMENTS OF THE POEM
Abhay Agarwal 08 June 2018

I loves this poem, I can relate

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