The poem
Why am I full of joy although It drizzles on the links? Why am I buying Veuve Cliquot, And setting up the drinks? Why stand I like a prince amid My pals and envy none? Ye gods of golf! Today I did A Hole in One.
I drove my ball to heaven high, It over-topped the hill; I tried to guess how it would lie, If on the fairway still. I climbed the rise, so sure I'd hit It straight towards the green: I looked and looked,--no trace of it Was to be seen.
My partner putted to the pin, Then hoarse I heard him call; And lo! So snug the hole within Gleamed up my ball. Yea, it was mine. Oh what a thrill! What dandy drive I'd done By luck,--well, grant a little skill, I'd holed in one.
Say that my score is eighty odd, And though I won't give up,-- Say that as round the course I plod, I never win a cup. Say that my handicap's nineteen, And of my game make fun, But holler: 'On the seventh green HE HOLED IN ONE.'