On The Ball
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.'
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Comments about this poem (On The Ball by Ima Ryma )
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994)
(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616)
(27 October 1914 – 9 November 1953)
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