by Robert SchechterAs Jack approached the sixteenth green to putt,
he saw a limousine beyond the fence.
He stopped, laid down his club, removed his hat,
assumed a pose of purest reverence,
and stood in silence as a hearse rolled by,
trailed by long black cars with headlights lit
despite the daylight. Jack let out a sigh,
bowed his head, and softly wept a bit.
His comrades in the foursome were impressed.
“We never knew how sensitive you are!
Oh what a pious man! Who would have guessed
you cared for anything but breaking par?”
Said Jack: “How could you think I’d shed no tears?
That woman was my wife for forty years.”