Explore "The Place where the Old Cleek Broke (other Verses)" by Harry Graham on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
(_After Whyte-Melville_)
Life is hollow to the golfer, of however high his rank, / If the dock-leaf and the nettle grow too free, / If a bramble bar his progress, if he's bunkered by a bank, / If his golf-ball jerks and wobbles off the tee. / There's a ditch I never pass, full of stones and broken glass, / And I'd sooner lift my ball and count a stroke, / For the tears my vision blot when I see the fatal spot, / 'Tis the place where my old cleek broke.