A little white ball
sits placidly on the grass
Taunts with its presence
dimples gleam in the sunlight

You expect
Hope
it will travel in one direction
but sometimes this impish sphere
has other ideas

As you search the long grass
for this nugget of white rubber and balata
Your mind calculates club selection
based on
angle to the green
length of grass
wind speed
uphill or downhill lie
But ultimately
unless hit perfectly
this little defender of the green
will do what it wants

You are lead hither and yon
rather than a direct route
to the targeted flag stick
Outwitted by the
wily orb
with the devilish dimples