A Christmas Golf Miracle
By DougE
T'was the day before Christmas, and all through the bag,
My Titleists were ready, to be aimed at a flag.
The air on the course was frigid and raw,
With clouds full of darkness, over fairways too small.
ProVs in my pocket, were warmed in the car,
Each yearning to fly through the cold, very far.
And I in my Footjoys, gloves and a cap,
With earmuffs, big sweater, a vest and some Jack.
A swig of the bottle, a stretch of my back
I'm warmed up and ready, to give it a whack.
I look over the course, so peaceful, no sound.
Wide open and lonely, no sole to be found.
The ball on the tee, a D2 in my grip,
A check of my stance, I then give it a rip.
It darts off the tee with the speed of a light,
And lands in the fairway, a wedge shot in sight.
I swing with control, three-quarters at best,
the pin is so close, where the ball comes to rest.
A tap-in for birdie, a start to excite,
Move on to the next tee, I'm ready to fight.
On 2, and on 3, on 4, and on 5
The birdies and pars continue to thrive.
On 6, with a 7, I hit it to 8
not yards or feet, but inches away.
The 8th, up a hill, I draw it astray,
But get up and down on this gloomy cold day.
A 5 on the 9th, another great par
The front was my best, scored ever so far.
The back nine continued to rival the front,
With an eagle on 12, my most stunning stunt.
But maybe there were, more thrills to amaze,
with 6 more tough holes, still in my gaze.
A birdie, a par, a birdie and then
I come to the last, under by 10
I grab my best club and step up to the tee,
Glance out at the pin, of this long tough Par3.
As my eyes focus in, on the flag in the middle
I catch glimpse of a man, with a beard, who's not little.
He's driving a cart, it's red with white lights,
A wand in his hand, with a star, oh so bright.
He waves it a sweep, as he passes the green
And out from the clouds come sprinkles of gleam.
The snow comes down light, I step up to the ball,
I swing at the orb, while I try not to fall.
It lands on the green and bangs into the pin,
Falls down to the ground, spins back, and goes in.
An ace for my final, hole of the day.
The first of my life, seems fitting I'd say.
On this day of my dreams, that all went my way,
I had help from a man who required no pay.
His laughter and glee, as he went over the hill
Rang out through the snow, as I know was his will.
I felt at that moment, my round was inspired,
with help from above, and the man not-for-hire,
Who sprinkled my path, with a magic snow stick
And gave me the faith to swing with no hitch.
In marvel and awe, I walked to my car.
I added the score up, to 12 under par.
Believe it or not, the numbers are real.
The round that I played was packed full of zeal.
Driver, irons, hybrids and woods,
Even my Scotty was more than just good.
I loaded my clubs and closed down the trunk,
Pounded my chest, and felt like a hunk.
Looked up in the sky, with an ear-to-ear grin,
The snow hit my face, and dripped off my chin.
The man with the beard on that shiny red cart,
Drove out of the clouds and passed by my heart,
With one final flick of his magical stick,
I firmly believed,... his name was Saint Nick.