Foozlesome’s Spring Song – GolfBlogger Golf Blog

FOOZLESOME'S SPRING SONG 
Now some may like a blithesome sea. 
And some the mountain peaks, 
And some the verdant, valley lea, 
For the lazy summer weeks. 
But better far than mount or surf 
Give me the emerald-gleaming turf. 
The mad March wind has dried the sod. 
The springtime sun is warm; 
My club is now a magic rod 
To summon many a form 
And spirit with a sporting heart 
Who loves the Ancient, Royal Art. 
The fight is on — the day is keen — 
And down the rolling course, 
From point to point and tee to green, 
The swinging driver's force 
Speeds the brave ball and cleaves the blue 
As cheerily I follow through. 
I gaily lead, o'er stream, o'er mead, 
Contesting every shot. 
Pegasus- — airy, fairy steed — 
Ne'er ran a race so hot ; 
Till at the eighteenth's brimming hole 
My putter flashes past the goal. 
Ah, good old Life, and all thy ways, 
I've loved thee since a boy; 
And thy best gift, my golfing days, 
Pure gold, without alloy. 
Abide with me, clear Eye, strong Heart, 
And all thy blessings, Ancient Art. 
Anonymous, in Lyrics of the Links, published in 1921

A “foozle” is someone who does things clumsily. A Foozlesome, presumably, is therefore a group of players more enthusiastic than good (which perfectly describes my game).