4pm they're still on first tee
warming up to be next to go
could be playing nine holes
i stop by to practice putting
same as bunker; chip shots
perfect day you can't pass
greens is full; two in bunkers
so i walk towards the lake
watch swimming ducklings
floating like cotton, writing
on lake with their tiny feet
mother never left an eye
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem