The First Tee
It's
crisp and cool on this late Fall morn as we head onto the track.
There's Fred and me
and Arthur, and a lefty known as Jack.
We wend our way
onto the tee, we see someone was through,
We can tell by the
tracks of two before, in the diamond crystal dew.
The lefty's shot
was straight and true, the righty hit a slice.
We could see this
in the tracks they left, on the early morning ice.
So we tossed a tee,
it's me to lead, then Jack then Art then Fred.
I give the ball a
mighty whack, my god it felt like lead!
You can see the
ball as it skitters off, with a lovely rooster tail.
And comes to rest
in a Lilac Bush, oh yeah, that's me, in jail.
The others hit the
fairway, and we put our clubs away,
And wonder at the
silence, as we head out on our way.
So get a tee-time
with a friend, or maybe two or three.
Then you'll also
have a tale to tell, as you start from the first tee
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