I think that I shall never see
a hazard rougher than an tree

A tree o'er which my ball must fly
if on the green it is to lie

A tree which stands that green to guard,
and makes the shot extremely hard

A tree whose leafy arms extend
to kill the six iron shot I send

A tree that stands in silence there,
while angry golfers rave and swear

Irons were made for fools like me
who cannot ever miss a tree.