They tend the golf course every day,
Watering the lush grass with their sweat
In the heat of the tropical sun.
Manicuring each grain of bunkered sand
And trimming the ornamental foliage.
They cut the grass with ancient revolving
Blades of steel propelled by devotion..
And yet in the last two moths I never saw
A single player come to strike a golf ball.
And what does it matter I ask myself
When their tireless care for Your field of play
Shouts so loudly with the certainty
Of an unerring hole in one
That results have no part to play in devotion.
A most gracious and welldelivered tribute to they who do their thankless best to attempt to save as many irate golfers from tossing their 9-irons into the babbling brook because what they thought was a certain "Birdie" turned into a quadruple "Bogie", due to uneven field.......Good Stuff...Fore !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!FjR