The End of A Perfect Game – Golf Poetry

THE END OF A PERFECT GAME 

WHEN you come to the end of a perfect game, 
And you sit alone with the thought, 
And you see where your game was punk and lame, 
And the havoc your clubs have wrought ; 
Do you think of the fours and the fives you had 

And wish for the chance once more? 
Do your vanished approaches leave you sad 
When the eighteen holes are o'er? 

Well, this is the end of a perfect stroll, 

At the end of the journey, too, 
And it leaves a thought that is big and strong 

For the shots that so quickly flew. 
Now mem'ry has painted this perfect scroll 

In colors that never can fade. 
And we find at the end that we needed the hole 

And the putts that we never made. 

John T. Llewellyn

from Lyrics of the Links, 1921