Autumn – Golf Poetry

Autumn – Golf Poetry

The Summer's dead. The robin sings
It's farewell to the lark;
And oh, it's such a little while
From three o'clock til dark

- Anonymous, From Lyrics of the Links, 1921

This poem really speaks to me. My usual tee time is three o’clock at Washtenaw Golf Club (course link) — that’s the fastest I can get there after teaching a day of classes. This time of year, I can just barely get in eighteen — and the final holes will be quite dark. In another week or two, I will be down to playing just nines.