Poem by Jack Kennedy

Golf Striped, down the middle of the fairway, par secured Bombed over the big pine, followed up a shank, par not secured My caddy eloquently tells me to lay up, but that's just not my game Followed up with a birdie, and I’m even on the day The fifth, the toughest on the course, I hit a bomb 300 yards down the middle Then promptly miss a putt to stay at even on the day Patience is a virtue on the golf course Keeping that in mind I need to stay relaxed, or this round can get out of control The ninth hole comes to a close, I am three over par, time to get focused The back starts off with a snap hook, not what I had in mind But the scenery keeps me calm, I stroll across the bridge up to the green and stop, focusing on the round, I take in the rolling hills and the birds chirping, the smells of barbeque and the feel of the course I am in perfect peace with myself and my surroundings My mind wanders as I step up on the 18th tee One more smack for Jack Kennedy, 21st century transcendentalist

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