The Green

The gentle movement of his hips,
the motion of his swing
as his arms through the motion;
the same motion those tanned arms have done for years.
A known position as his leg turns with the swing.
That stance is poetic
as the arms swing the club through,
as his fingers move to the rhythm
and his eyes follow the tiny,
white
sphere
through the air.
This is his dream --
a life in the making and in every swing of the club,
a new dream might flash before his eyes.

The out
turned
foot,
the watchful gaze as his green eyes
follow the ball through the air,
into the atmsophere and then back to where it lands.
And his whole heart is swinging that club,
his whole being in that one swi g.
His questions are answered in this game,
and playing it is his first love.
The green and the flags,
the holes and par four's,
the birdies, bogies and all else in between
are his life and his in them,
his heart first loved.
How much magic is there in that?
that he lives the same as I do in my writing,
but through an ancient game
that
captured
his poetic
heart
long
ago.