Birdie - In the wet

Scudding skies of wet newspaper
A fog that swallows up all sound
I can hardly see the fairway’s taper
As raindrops drizzle all around

The green is just a ghost swept vision
Sheathed in mist and damp dew cloaked
It chills my hands and steams my cheeks up
Knowing I will end up soaked

But passions deeper than just feelings
Keep me focussed on the green
Hoping that, in these conditions
There’s a chance to hit one clean

So I swing my five iron smoothly
See the ball fly through the shroud
See it land, then bounce and spin back
That’s the shot to make me proud

Then swaggering to the mist tip pin
I take it out and look around
Is it me first, all agreed guys?
I line it up - and knock it in.

Birdie!