Nobody saw him, the errant golfer
but still he swished, ball lacking
I was deeper in the rough than you thought
and not swinging but hacking
Poor chap, he always loved golfing
and now his game is dead
it must have been too much for him
his swing gave way they said
Oh no no no, it was always an agricultural swing
(still the fallen golfer lay moaning)
I was too far in the rough all my life
and not swinging but hacking
Based on 'Not waving but drowning' by Stevie Smith (1903 - 1971)
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem