His colleagues called him
"an under par guy."
"A duffer whose drive
made brutal the lie."

But he didn't care.
He played things way,
and golfed the sun
by a Hawaiian bay.

He liked hanging loose
around a resort,
that catered to hacks
in search of a sport.

Here he could play
a full eighteen holes,
where black lava sands
met shimmering shoals.

Here he could steep
in freshly mowed turf,
the fragrant trade winds
and breathtaking surf.

Here he could swing
with aloha style
and hit the sweet spots
that made others smile.

He showed many guests
how one can succeed
when stuck in tall grass
that's up to the knees.

He helped some avoid
the hazards and traps,
and let them play holes
not shown on their maps.

When chip shots were shanked,
and short putts were duds,
He got them to laugh
at all of the flubs.

He settled disputes
with kindness at heart.
A ball was still fair
that bounced off the cart.

When woods lost their fire
and irons went cold,
He coached them to pause
and adjust their hold.

The good he gave out
came back twice the size.
He'd mastered the game
in everyone’s eyes.