Ace?

January 12, 2019

Staring it down,

The greatest shot of the round.

Straight as an arrow, as high as a building,

“Will I win” I am wondering.

The shot finally lands,

Club twirling in my hands.

Thank God it's not in the trees,

This feels like a breeze.

I see the ball roll,

Towards the hole.

It sits on the edge,

Like an egg on a ledge,

Just before going in.

I drop my club,

And begin to sprint.

Running towards the green,

That shot was so clean.

I get up to the pin,

I'm sure it went in.

I reach into the hole,

This shot was the goal.

We do a round of handshakes,

They say it was fake.

I then wake up,

The feeling is abrupt.

It was all a dream,

What did it mean?

Does this mean it will happen,

I began laughing.

Something wrong with this poem?

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