Ima Ryma - Sunday Sin

Sunday, Father Ed called in sick,
And went out to play golf instead.
A course far from home he did pick
Where no one would know Father Ed.
And all by himself, he did play,
To further hide the fact, no doubt,
What he was up to on Sunday,
No one but him would know about.
Four hundred yards was the first hole.
Father Ed teed up and then struck.
The ball did fly and then did roll
At the pin, in the cup - what luck!

Sometimes golf can make one's life hell.
Hole in one, but who could he tell?

Ima Ryma

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/sunday-sin/