The sun was hung high o’er a cloudless blue sky
Green grass rolled over the hills
And nestled away in the sycamore trees
Were the songbird’s echoing trills
The lake was shimmering with sparkling lights
As a cool breeze blew in from the east
The sand on the beach was silken and white
Not a grain out of place in the least
Would this pastoral scene ease my poor soul?
Would my stroll bring peace to my mind?
Alas no! For I had bogeyed the fourth
And now I was three strokes behind…