When a wayward golf ball I do find,
I wonder if it's really kind
To keep it.
An avid golfer, noble soul
Prob'ly paid a lot of dough
To buy it.
My inner conflict is short lived
The ball, it seems, has hardly lived.
I owe it.
A chance to fly, to soar again
To make birdie, roll right in.
I feel it.
Into my pocket, it disappears
Eager, as the next tee nears.
I'll use it.
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