In the morning light, a whisper calls,
Among the trees where shadows fall.
A gentle breeze, a silent prayer,
As swings are cast through open air.

The rolling hills, a canvas wide,
Where dreams and hopes in putts reside.
With every stroke, a journey starts,
A dance of skill and patient hearts.

The flag flutters in distant gaze,
A beacon bright through morning haze.
Each step upon this verdant sea,
A quest for par, a soul set free.

As sun dips low, the game concludes,
In twilight’s glow, the earth exudes.
A quiet peace, a bond renews,
In golf’s embrace, where spirit brews.