I stand surveying the angles
And slopes of the land
A plan in my mind and a golf club in my hand
The ball is waiting ready
To live its final putt
This shot is gonna happen, I feel it in my gut
I check the wind direction
And condition of the green
I weigh up all the angles, want the shot to be clean
I plant my feet real sturdy
And eye the balls route
I slow my breathing down as I prepare to shoot
I swing the club back slowly
Now going for the kill
But slip and clip the edge of the plastic windmill
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Now, that's some funny s***!