The time and date is:
10:30 pm Monday, 18 December 2017
* Home

Sections
* Ballads
* Ballad Features
* Burns
* McGonagall
* Other Poetry
* Scottish Writers
* Scots Glossary

Poets
* Alphabetical List
* Featured List

Poems
* List of Topics

Songs
* Scottish Songs
* Modern Songs

Submissions
* Submit a Poem
* Submit a Song

Policies
* Copyright
* Permission
* Privacy
* Standards

Web Links
* Other Sites

Contact
* About Us
* E-mail Us

Fur the Love o' Golf ©

by Hamish M Anstruther
Scotland
2002

Rain, hail, sleet or snaw,
You'll see us oot there hittin' the wee white ba'.

Parkland, heathland, links or heather,
It's no' made easy by the Scottish weather.

We hook it left, we slice it right,
But we'll still be oot frae mornin' 'til night.

We curse the ba' and ask, "Whit's the matter?"
The clubhouse sage shouts, "Play a balata!"

Persimmon woods, laminated tae,
Metal heids are noo the order o' the day.

If we can jist keep up wi' technology,
We micht no' be best, but we'll sure look bonnie.

Obsessed wi' length and expert analysis,
We cannae swing because o' paralysis.

Tiger, Monty, Seve an' aw,
How dae they easily hit the ba'?

Frustration, anger, rage and sorrow,
We'll aw be oot there again tomorrow.

The wife complains, "It's damagin' yur health!"
Does she think we're oot there enjoyin' oorself?


Web Site by IT-SERVE © 1999 - 2017 All Rights Reserved Return to top