The ground is damp. There’s a mist in the air.

The sun is rising. The weather is fair.

I walk down the fairway and the birds chirping,

The ducks quacking, the greenskeepers working.

My hands are cold, they’re practically numb.

I find it hard to hold the club.

I’m bound in jacket, shirt and sweater,

Without them I could swing much better.

I struggle through the first three holes.

It’s tough to swing, so bundled and cold.

But the sun’s getting higher, I’m warm and refreshed.

I am able to shed my heavy dress.

I loosen up and the fun begins,

Every shot I hit seems to go in.

My best front ever, a thirty four,

But no one to vouch for my incredible score.

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