A lonesome lady in red chiffon 

Carries one golf club on her shoulder

And hits one golf ball along the rough.

She’s smart enough to play before 

The sun comes up,

Before the clubhouse opens.

She misses out on the gossip this way,

And gets to play without any delays,

Or paying any greens fees.

She’s almost hidden beneath 

The very trees she walks along.

Almost.

Like an apparition, like a ghost,

In the misty, morning dew,

Wistfully whacking one golf ball around,

Finding a few that others have lost,

She discovers plenty of time for counting the cost

Of past mistakes, and future ones

She’s bound to find

As the day breaks.

-jenn