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Thursday, April 11, 2019

Tiger, Tiger!

Tiger, Tiger burning bright;
Hits a golf ball out of sight!
What precise hand & eye contact;
What sublime symmetry!

Is it futile to reason why,
Such ambition burns in his eyes.
To what great new heights does he aspire.
Phoenix like, he is now rising
Once again from the fire.
It was once said that he had a wise head
On young shoulders. How great thou wert.
With the perfect swing; he competed from the heart:
With an iron will that could not be beat,
And an athletic build from head to feet.
Unlike mere mortals his heart never fluttered,
When he stared at the hole and drew back his putter.
The Claret Jug & the Jacket he has clasped;
Indeed every Major he has grasped.

O Tiger, Tiger, a force
even now at forty three.
Did He who envisioned
The Ideal conceive of thee?

Tiger, Tiger burning bright,
Prowls the fairway in delight!
What precise hand & eye contact;
What sublime symmetry.
Dominic Windram
Topic(s) of this poem: sport
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