Tiger Ode

From blistering olympic arched heighth
whose melted drive gathers Air(tm)
glistens in the wet honey sunlight
towering, wheeling
dropping to the hourglass green?

What microcosm unfurled
this dimpled sphere
when long iron laid upon?

Who will read its fate forged elemental unity
at the mastery of his will?

Yes and whose gleaming burnished shoulder lights
the digital window
to reveal
whose every nuance and gesture
by veteran analysts in the lofty towers
and broadcast simultaneously to millions in HD TV?

Tiger sets the shot on full-winged trajectory
to graze upon the cerulean meadows
and reaps fruit at first peak
of birdies well-stroked.

While would be contenders lust and swell for majors
and silver chalices
with immortal names engraved.
But ever crash into bunker and hazard
shots steered to trouble
like lemmings over the seawall piped
from Olympia Fields to Pebble or Augusta
when April's black maned clouds have not swallowed
azalea blosomed corridors.

Tiger rises up like a wave's fist that pounds par unrelenting.
Bunkers and traps that would snag
snag no more his golden paw.
As he remains bogey free---this stellar Woods!