Yes, the young golf widows, O my brothers,
Do you ask them why they weep?
They are longing to be back beside their mothers,
While you're playing in a sweep.
And well may the widows weep before you
When your nightly round is done;
They care nothing for a stymie, or the glory
Gained by holing out in one.
"How long," they say, "how long in careless fashion