DEDICATED

TO THE MEMORY OF MYÂ FATHER

1850-1918

I've just been thinking, Oh! Pal of mine,

The club is old

And brown with rust;

I know you'll say; --

"If play you must

With such a relic,

Scarred with age,

Why don't you go

And straight engage

Some patient lad,

With emery

To rub it bright

As clubs should be?"

Scorn not white hairs

Time soon must reap,

Nor mock the lines

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."