Life is like a round of golf.
It's a walk with valued friends.
It tests your skill and finds you yelling "Fore!"
The bunkers and the hazards
try your patience and your faith
as you anticipate your final score.
You're grateful for a Mulligan
when you (at times) mess up.
Like "breakfast balls" the Good Lord offers grace.
Perfection is elusive,
but you give it your best shot
in hopes you'll reach your dream and card an ace.
And when you've played your final round
and reach the 19th hole,
you calculate what matters most of all:
Your family and your colleagues
and the memories you made
while chasing after that white dimpled ball.
*This poem was written in memory of die-hard golfer Peter Dierickx who died a few weeks before the 2016 Masters.