Down on Miami Street

By the old bookstore

The grass grows stronger in the spring

Than anywhere else

On the golf course of the city

Where time is on repeat

The dandelion haze slips into the summer

Of heat and sun

Under the clubhouse

Is where it all begun

A love of a game

The idea so simple yet execution endlessly imperfect

I learned to grow up on these hills

These greens

Taught me how to be a man

To be polite

I owe many days to Erskine

To the scorecards that have been discarded

And the memories kept

Where I spent time with my father

And learned that a game can teach us

A lot more than how to swing

But rather how to live and be present

In a world that just keeps falling away