I'm a golf addict - a little rhyme.

In My Hand I Hold A  Ball, 
 White And  Dimpled, And Rather Small. 
 Oh, How Bland  It Does Appear, 
 This Harmless  Looking Little Sphere. 
 
 By Its Size  I Could Not Guess 
 The Awesome  Strength It Does Possess. 
 But Since I Fell Beneath Its  Spell, 
 I’ve Wandered  Through The Fires Of Hell. 
 
 My Life Has  Not Been Quite The Same 
 Since I Chose  To Play This Stupid Game. 
 It Rules My  Mind For Hours On End; 
 A Fortune It  Has Made Me Spend. 
 
 It Has Made  Me Curse And Made Me Cry, 
 And Hate Myself  And Want To Die. 
 It Promises Me  A Thing Called Par, 
 If I Hit It  Straight And Far. 
 
 To Master  Such A Tiny Ball, 
 Should Not Be  Very Hard At All. 
 But My Desires  The Ball Refuses, 
 And Does  Exactly As It Chooses. 
 
 It Hooks  And Slices, Dribbles And Dies, 
 And Disappears  Before My Eyes. 
 Often It Will  Have A Whim, 
 To Hit A Tree  Or Take A Swim. 
 
 With Miles  Of Grass On Which To Land, 
 It Finds A Tiny  Patch Of Sand. 
 Then Has Me  Offering Up My Soul, 
 If Only It  Would Find The Hole. 
 
 It’s Made  Me Whimper Like A Pup, 
 And Swear That  I Will Give It Up. 
 And Take To  Drink To Ease My Sorrow, But The Ball  Knows … I’ll Be Back  Tomorrow.