Golf Love Poem

I think that I shall never see
a hazard rougher than an tree;

A tree o'er which my ball must fly
if on the green it is to lie;

A tree which stands that green to guard,
and makes the shot extremely hard;

A tree whose leafy arms extend
to kill the six iron shot I send;

A tree that stands in silence there,
while angry golfers rave and swear.

Irons were made for fools like me
who cannot ever miss a tree.

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