Don’t Ask Me Why

Upon the tee I firmly stand,
My trusty driver in my hand,
And just before I take my stance
And start to swing, I cast a glance
Ahead of me ah, all is nice,
For I invariably slice,
And to the fairway’s right all’s clear.
I do not have a thing to fear.
This is, for me, the snap of snaps:
To left, alone, are rough and traps.
And so, without a further look,
I take my stance, and swing-and hook.