Wind

It bloweth my putts uphill,
It bloweth my ball from my tee,
It bloweth my hat from my noggin.

It rocketh me back,
It rocketh me forward,
It rocketh me side to side.

It maketh my ball go short,
It maketh my ball go too far,
It maketh my ball go crooked.

It bloweth sand in my face,
It bloweth grass in my eyes,
It bloweth cactus into my shins.

It maketh me cuss,
It maketh me swear,
It maketh me yell and scream.

It maketh me want to quit,
It maketh me want to leave,
It maketh me totally confused.

So why do I play this game of golf,
In a wind where the birds are walking?
Because it’s what I love to do!
And now it's time to stop talking.