To A Perfect Putt – Golf Poetry

TO A PERFECT PUTT 

Here's to the perfect shot, my friends, 
A putt on the eighteenth green — 
The shot upon which the match depends ! 
Across that emerald sheen 
I concentrate with my ev'ry force 
My ball of white must mark its course 
And into that hole must fall ! 
To guide my wayward ball. 

The match for seventeen holes has run 
And now must be settled here ; 
The glory's now to be lost or won 
On the twist of that little sphere. 
So thinking too hard of how much depends 
My senses completely fade — 
Yes, here's to the perfect putt, my friends, 
The putt that I never made ! 

- S.K. Bennett

To A Perfect Putt, first published in Lyrics of the Links, 1921