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The Links
Brushed gentle strokes of
The greens keeper's pallet
With rich and lush greens
Wild flower surrounded
Blue as sky or blue as sea
And sands painted white

The Links
A daily gessoed canvas
Commissioned only by those
Who for aesthetic respite
From heart caths and sore throats
Begin to arrive
Before light

The Links
Welcome the greatly honored
To bid on tee times,
As if they are coveted prizes
Like the taste of fine vintage wine
To be the first to shout "Fore"
And slice to the right

The Links
Return its beneficiaries
To the sought home of golf's heart
Where the way the waltz it was meant
To be played from the start
Sway from the moment of sunrise
Until the cover of night

The Links
Were first perhaps found
By young adventures who
With sticks and rocks
Created an experience so brand new
That even if tipped over
Would forever itself aright

The Links
Thirsty real estate agents
Sell with unbridled passion
Those homes that surround
That are built in such the fashion
To appeal to the widowed wives
And red ribboned dogs that don't bite

The Links
Paradise that lovingly separates
The dark fertile soil from demands
Of the oceans high tide dance
Slapping with white foam hands
The links will forever remain
The golfers life and delight

Learn more about this author, Darrell E Phillips.
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