Twas the night before The Masters, when all through the house
Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse.
The beer cans were stashed in the refrigerator with care,
In hopes that St. Nicklaus soon would be there.
The dogs were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of birdies danced in their heads.
And Molly in her spot, and I in my booze,
Had just settled down for a long spring's snooze.
When out on the range there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.
Away to the window I flew like a flash,
Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash.
The moon on the breast of the new-fallen dew
Gave the lustre of mid-day to a feeling so new.
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But an old crusty caddy, and ice, ice cold beer.
With a little old driver, so lively and quick,
I knew in a moment it must be St Nick.
More rapid than eagles his coursers they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name!
"Now Phil! Now, Sandy! Now, Woosnam and Player!
On, Couples! On, Watson! On, on Vijay...even Tiger!
To the top of the leader board! To the top of the wall!
Now play away! Play away! Play away all!"
As azaleas that before the wild hurricane fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky.
So up to the top the coursers they flew,
With the bag full of hopes, and St Nicklaus too.
And then, in a twinkling, I heard on my cot
The scratching and clawing of each little shot.
As I drew in my head, and was turning around,
Down the fairway St Nicklaus came with a bound.
He was dressed all in plaid, from his foot to his hand,
And his clothes were all tarnished with divots and sand.
A bundle of shots he still had in his bag,
And he looked like a fiddler, just practicing his craft.
His eyes-how they twinkled! His swing how classic!
His cheeks were like roses, his strut was fantastic!
His demeanor was poised so we all could see,
And smile on his face was was as it should be.
The stump of a tee he held tight in his teeth,
And the crowd it encircled his group like a wreath.
He had a broad face and a little gray hair,
That blew in the wind, like a leaf in the air!
He filled all the holes, with long distance putts,
And finished his business, no ifs, ands or buts.
And laying his putter aside of his sack,
And giving a nod, and a tip of the cap!
He sprang to Butler Cabin, and the crowd gave a whistle,
And away they all flew like the down of a thistle.
But I heard him exclaim, ‘ere he walked out of sight,
"Happy Masters to all, and to all a good-night!"
Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse.
The beer cans were stashed in the refrigerator with care,
In hopes that St. Nicklaus soon would be there.
The dogs were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of birdies danced in their heads.
And Molly in her spot, and I in my booze,
Had just settled down for a long spring's snooze.
When out on the range there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.
Away to the window I flew like a flash,
Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash.
The moon on the breast of the new-fallen dew
Gave the lustre of mid-day to a feeling so new.
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But an old crusty caddy, and ice, ice cold beer.
With a little old driver, so lively and quick,
I knew in a moment it must be St Nick.
More rapid than eagles his coursers they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name!
"Now Phil! Now, Sandy! Now, Woosnam and Player!
On, Couples! On, Watson! On, on Vijay...even Tiger!
To the top of the leader board! To the top of the wall!
Now play away! Play away! Play away all!"
As azaleas that before the wild hurricane fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky.
So up to the top the coursers they flew,
With the bag full of hopes, and St Nicklaus too.
And then, in a twinkling, I heard on my cot
The scratching and clawing of each little shot.
As I drew in my head, and was turning around,
Down the fairway St Nicklaus came with a bound.
He was dressed all in plaid, from his foot to his hand,
And his clothes were all tarnished with divots and sand.
A bundle of shots he still had in his bag,
And he looked like a fiddler, just practicing his craft.
His eyes-how they twinkled! His swing how classic!
His cheeks were like roses, his strut was fantastic!
His demeanor was poised so we all could see,
And smile on his face was was as it should be.
The stump of a tee he held tight in his teeth,
And the crowd it encircled his group like a wreath.
He had a broad face and a little gray hair,
That blew in the wind, like a leaf in the air!
He filled all the holes, with long distance putts,
And finished his business, no ifs, ands or buts.
And laying his putter aside of his sack,
And giving a nod, and a tip of the cap!
He sprang to Butler Cabin, and the crowd gave a whistle,
And away they all flew like the down of a thistle.
But I heard him exclaim, ‘ere he walked out of sight,
"Happy Masters to all, and to all a good-night!"
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