ON THE FAIRWAY’S QUIET MORNING GREEN, A SWING CUTS THROUGH THE AIR—CLEAN, SERENE. THE BALL ARCS WIDE TOWARD SKY AND SUN, CHASING THE HOPE OF A WELL‑PLAYED RUN. –––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––– STEP AFTER STEP, THROUGH ROUGH OR SMOOTH, GOLF TEACHES PATIENCE THE WORLD CAN’T –––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––– SOOTHE. SHANKS AND SLICES, LOST IN TREES, A PUTT ROLLS PAST WITH MOCKING EASE. CLUBS FEEL HEAVY, GRIP UNSURE, EACH SWING A TEST I MUST ENDURE. RAIN BEGINS, THE WIND TAKES HOLD— MY SCORECARD READS A TALE UNTOLD.