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Posted by Bruce Fletcher (remove denture on May 26, 2009, 5:02 am
In My Hand I Hold A Ball,
White And Dimpled, And Rather Small.
Oh, How Bland It Does Appear,
This Harmless Looking Little Sphere.
By It's Size I Could Not Guess,
The Awesome Strength It Does Possess.
But Since I Fell Beneath Its Spell,
I've Wandered Through The Fires Of Hell.
My Life Has Not Been Quite The Same,
Since I Chose To Play This Game.
It Rules My Mind For Hours On End,
A Fortune It Has Made Me Spend.
It Has Made Me Yell, And Curse And Cry,
I Hate Myself And Want To Die.
It Promises A Thing Called Par,
If I Can Hit It Straight And Far.
To Master Such A Tiny Ball,
Should Not Be Very Hard At All.
But My Desires The Ball Refuses,
And Does Exactly As It Chooses.
It Hooks And Slices, Dribbles And Dies,
And Even Disappears Before My Eyes.
Often It Will Have A Whim,
To Hit A Tree Or Take A Swim.
With Miles Of Grass On Which To Land,
It Finds A Tiny Patch Of Sand.
Then Has Me Offering Up My Soul,
If Only It Would Find The Hole.
It's Made Me Whimper Like A Pup,
And Swear That I Will Give It Up.
And Take To Drink To Ease My Sorrow,
But The Ball Knows that I'll Be Back Tomorrow.
Stand proud you noble swingers of clubs and losers of balls. A recent
study found the average golfer walks about 900 miles ayear. Another
study found golfers drink, on average, 22 gallons of alcohol a year.
That means, on average, golfers get about 41 miles to the gallon. Kind
of makes you proud doesn't it?
--
Bruce Fletcher
Stronsay, Orkney UK
show/hide quoted text
<http://claremont.islandblogging.co.uk>
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Posted by Fred on May 26, 2009, 6:26 am
show/hide quoted text
> In My Hand I Hold A Ball,
> White And Dimpled, And Rather Small.
> Oh, How Bland It Does Appear,
> This Harmless Looking Little Sphere.
> By It's Size I Could Not Guess,
> The Awesome Strength It Does Possess.
> But Since I Fell Beneath Its Spell,
> I've Wandered Through The Fires Of Hell.
> My Life Has Not Been Quite The Same,
> Since I Chose To Play This Game.
> It Rules My Mind For Hours On End,
> A Fortune It Has Made Me Spend.
> It Has Made Me Yell, And Curse And Cry,
> I Hate Myself And Want To Die.
> It Promises A Thing Called Par,
> If I Can Hit It Straight And Far.
> To Master Such A Tiny Ball,
> Should Not Be Very Hard At All.
> But My Desires The Ball Refuses,
> And Does Exactly As It Chooses.
> It Hooks And Slices, Dribbles And Dies,
> And Even Disappears Before My Eyes.
> Often It Will Have A Whim,
> To Hit A Tree Or Take A Swim.
> With Miles Of Grass On Which To Land,
> It Finds A Tiny Patch Of Sand.
> Then Has Me Offering Up My Soul,
> If Only It Would Find The Hole.
> It's Made Me Whimper Like A Pup,
> And Swear That I Will Give It Up.
> And Take To Drink To Ease My Sorrow,
> But The Ball Knows that I'll Be Back Tomorrow.
> Stand proud you noble swingers of clubs and losers of balls. A recent
> study found the average golfer walks about 900 miles ayear. Another study
> found golfers drink, on average, 22 gallons of alcohol a year. That means,
> on average, golfers get about 41 miles to the gallon. Kind of makes you
> proud doesn't it?
> --
> Bruce Fletcher
> Stronsay, Orkney UK
I'll drink to that!!
I used to be very good at golf when I was very young. Then I discovered
bikinis and skirts at the resort we used to visit during the summer. I never
set foot on a golf course again and never regretted it. My father was
furious that the money he spent for golf lessons for me was wasted. He never
let me forget it either even though he thought that my meeting my DW was the
best thing that ever happened to me. C'est l' vive
Fred
http://www.stitchaway.com
If nothing changes, nothing changes.
Don't back stitch to email, just stitchit
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Posted by NDJoan on May 27, 2009, 10:40 am
On May 26, 4:02=A0am, "Bruce Fletcher (remove dentures to reply)"
show/hide quoted text
> In My Hand I Hold A Ball,
> White And Dimpled, And Rather Small.
> Oh, How Bland It Does Appear,
> This Harmless Looking Little Sphere.
> By It's Size I Could Not Guess,
> The Awesome Strength It Does Possess.
> But Since I Fell Beneath Its Spell,
> I've Wandered Through The Fires Of Hell.
> My Life Has Not Been Quite The Same,
> Since I Chose To Play This Game.
> It Rules My Mind For Hours On End,
> A Fortune It Has Made Me Spend.
> It Has Made Me Yell, And Curse And Cry,
> I Hate Myself And Want To Die.
> It Promises A Thing Called Par,
> If I Can Hit It Straight And Far.
> To Master Such A Tiny Ball,
> Should Not Be Very Hard At All.
> But My Desires The Ball Refuses,
> And Does Exactly As It Chooses.
> It Hooks And Slices, Dribbles And Dies,
> And Even Disappears Before My Eyes.
> Often It Will Have A Whim,
> To Hit A Tree Or Take A Swim.
> With Miles Of Grass On Which To Land,
> It Finds A Tiny Patch Of Sand.
> Then Has Me Offering Up My Soul,
> If Only It Would Find The Hole.
> It's Made Me Whimper Like A Pup,
> And Swear That I Will Give It Up.
> And Take To Drink To Ease My Sorrow,
> But The Ball Knows that I'll Be Back Tomorrow.
This was great!
Bruce, did you write this? May I have permission to forward it?
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Posted by Bruce Fletcher (remove denture on May 27, 2009, 2:00 pm
NDJoan wrote:
show/hide quoted text
> On May 26, 4:02 am, "Bruce Fletcher (remove dentures to reply)"
>> In My Hand I Hold A Ball,
>> White And Dimpled, And Rather Small.
>> Oh, How Bland It Does Appear,
>> This Harmless Looking Little Sphere.
>> By It's Size I Could Not Guess,
>> The Awesome Strength It Does Possess.
>> But Since I Fell Beneath Its Spell,
>> I've Wandered Through The Fires Of Hell.
>> My Life Has Not Been Quite The Same,
>> Since I Chose To Play This Game.
>> It Rules My Mind For Hours On End,
>> A Fortune It Has Made Me Spend.
>> It Has Made Me Yell, And Curse And Cry,
>> I Hate Myself And Want To Die.
>> It Promises A Thing Called Par,
>> If I Can Hit It Straight And Far.
>> To Master Such A Tiny Ball,
>> Should Not Be Very Hard At All.
>> But My Desires The Ball Refuses,
>> And Does Exactly As It Chooses.
>> It Hooks And Slices, Dribbles And Dies,
>> And Even Disappears Before My Eyes.
>> Often It Will Have A Whim,
>> To Hit A Tree Or Take A Swim.
>> With Miles Of Grass On Which To Land,
>> It Finds A Tiny Patch Of Sand.
>> Then Has Me Offering Up My Soul,
>> If Only It Would Find The Hole.
>> It's Made Me Whimper Like A Pup,
>> And Swear That I Will Give It Up.
>> And Take To Drink To Ease My Sorrow,
>> But The Ball Knows that I'll Be Back Tomorrow.
>
>
> This was great!
> Bruce, did you write this? May I have permission to forward it?
I'm no poet, when I saw it on another newsgroup it was attributed to
that well known author "anon".
--
Bruce Fletcher
Stronsay, Orkney UK
show/hide quoted text
<http://claremont.islandblogging.co.uk>
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Posted by NDJoan on May 27, 2009, 4:18 pm
On May 27, 1:00=A0pm, "Bruce Fletcher (remove dentures to reply)"
show/hide quoted text
> I'm no poet, when I saw it on another newsgroup it was attributed to
> that well known author "anon".
Okay, thanks for letting me know!
Joan
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