On The Ball - Poem by Ima Ryma
A golfer hit into the rough.
The ball landed on an ant hill.
The golfer swore some nasty stuff,
And threw his club as golfers will.
Then took another club and swung.
Lots of dirt and sand and ants flew.
But in the same spot the ball hung.
So then what did the golfer do?
Swung again but the ball still stayed.
Dirt and sand and ants flew instead.
The golfer hacked in a tirade.
One of the remaining ants said,
'I don't know about you ants all, '
'But I'm gonna get on the ball.'
Comments about On The Ball by Ima Ryma
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Still I Rise
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening
I Do Not Love You Except Because I Love You