By Charlie Morgan 
July – 1995 

Fore’er to shoot … Fore’er to lie 
On grass clipped short and clean … 

Be it on the mid, in transit to putt 
Or straight from tee to green 

Fore’er I say! 

For not nearer to God 
But near to the pin … 

That is my heaven. 

You speak of the beach and fondly of your grand ocean’s swells 
I speak of the beach and call it hell! 
Hell aside! Hell around! 
Just before and to catch the bound 
Of my Maxfli, Tit’list or Dot … 
And leave me in a quartz lined spot 
To swing away ….. 

Fore’er to stay ….