THREE gibbets there were on my road of Dream,

And from each a grim corpse did sway;

And there hung a sign on which I read,

 "Four golfers died here today."

And I looked about (for I saw but three),

When an old black carrion crow

Croaked out: "You wonder where's Number Four;

 Is that what you want to know?

"Well, they hung this one for divot neglect,

Number Two for padding his score,

Number Three for bragging about his game,

But hanging's too good for Four.

"For he was one who 'Played in Hard Luck,'

Always whined when he lost a hole;

Who never was beaten by better golf--

A louse-hearted, puny soul.

"So, 'Careless,' 'Braggart' and 'Cheat' were hung,

 But they set the other knave free,

To live alone as a leper, shunned,

 A pitiful thing to see."