That Little White Ball

THAT LITTLE WHITE BALL

The frost is on the fairway
the leaves are turning brown
I hope the weather lets me
play just one more round

The birds have all gone southward
there isn’t a single sound
I’ll bet that if I hurry
I could play just one more round

My hands are getting cold
my fingers begin to numb
but if I wear my gloves –
bet I could get one more round

The snow is deep, I want to weep
In all these years I’ve found
there’s nothing quite like getting
to play that final round.
c2012 Nancy Buffington

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