Why am I full of joy although
It drizzles on the links?
Why am I buying Veuve Cliquot,
And setting up the drinks?
Why stand I like a prince amid
My pals and envy none?
Ye gods of golf! Today I did
A Hole in One.
I drove my ball to heaven high,
It over-topped the hill;
I tried to guess how it would lie,
If on the fairway still.
I climbed the rise, so sure I’d hit
It straight towards the green:
I looked and looked,–no trace of it
Was to be seen.
My partner putted to the pin,
Then hoarse I heard him call;
And lo! So snug the hole within
Gleamed up my ball.
Yea, it was mine. Oh what a thrill!
What dandy drive I’d done
By luck,–well, grant a little skill,
I’d holed in one.
Say that my score is eighty odd,
And though I won’t give up,–
Say that as round the course I plod,
I never win a cup.
Say that my handicap’s nineteen,
And of my game make fun,
But holler: ‘On the seventh green
HE HOLED IN ONE.’
