Ihr liewe Leit:
Wieviel vun eich gude Leser schpiele Golf? Un wieviel vun eich gude Leser ass Golf schpiele waare draus uffern Golfblatz warm en Regeschtarrem es Verschteckde Daal runnerkumme iss?
Loss uns mol aanemme ass der Ralph Funk (1889-1969) draus im Daal iss. Es iss, nadierlich, en iwweraus scheener Daag:
Schwetz vun scheene Summerdaage!
Des iss eener, waer kann glaage!
Ich deet wette, un gewinne---
Kann ken besser Wedder finne.
Doch kann ich en Wolk datt sehne
'Baut wie'n Hand, so deet ich meene,
In der Wescht---was kann's bedieide?
Ya, waer weess in Summerzeide.
Sehnescht du aa, sie kummt als neecher,
Sunneschei iss wennich bleecher---
Aeryeds duht deel Rege falle,
Vleicht en bissel Dunner schalle.
Nau fangt Wind aa rasch zu bloosse,
Iss am Rausche un am Schtoosse!
Duht der Schtaab vun Weg uffziege,
Groosse Beem schier dobbel biege!
Haust der Schtarrern mit Schtraahl un Dunner,
Darrich's Daal, die Barrige runner---
Dobt un gnallt, wie dausend Deiwel
Hett' die Welt schunn unne Zweiwel.
Ball wie's End der Welt duht's scheine!
Der Wind, wie Gschpenschder, hell am
Weine!
Un Wedderleech in all Ecke
Duht eem aus der Haut verschrecke!
Guck! 's losst noh, der Schtaffern verzoge---
Guckt mer fer der Regeboge!
Datt iss er! Bin froh'n sehne,
Verschprecht es soll ken Flut meh
gschehne!
Vun weidem heert mer Dunner schalle,
'S duht aa nau ken Rege falle;
Die Sunn kann widdeer Schadder messe---
Un der Schtarrern iss glei vergesse!
Schwetz vun scheene Summerdaage,
Heit iss eener, waer kann glaage!
Alles hibsch, die Veggel singe
Fer uns guder Mut zu bringe.
Waer kann glaage? Die Sunn iss widder haus!
Schlaag den ball, un dreib en weit iwwer's Deich! Oops! #*%$*#¢@*#!
Macht's gut,
Der Alt Professer
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Dear people:
How many of you good readers play golf? And how many of you good readers who play golf have been out on the golf course when a rain storm came down the Hidden Valley?
Let us once assume (make believe) that Ralph Runk (1889-1969) is out in the Valley. It is, of course, an extremely beautiful day:
Speak of beautiful summer days!
This is one, who can complain!
I would bet, and win—
One can't find any better weather.
But I can see a cloud there
About like a hand" so I would think,
In the west—what could it mean?
Yes, who knows in summertimes.
Do you see too, it's coming nearer,
The sunshine is a little paler—
Somewhere real rain is falling,
Perhaps a little thunder is resounding.
Now the wind begins to blow fast (hard),
It is rustling and gusting!
Draws up the dust from the path,
Bends big trees almost double!
The storm rages with flashes and thunder,
Through the Valley, down the mountains—
Blusters and cracks, as if a thousand devils
Already had the world, without doubt.
It almost seems like the end of the world!
The wind like phantoms (apparitions), crying!
And lightning in all corners
Scares one out of his skin!
Look! It's letting up, the storm has passed on
Let's look for a rainbow!
There it is! I'm happy to see it,
It promises no flood will happen!
From afar one hears thunder sounding,
And also there is no rain falling now;
The sun can once again measure shadows;
And the storm is soon forgotten!
Talk of beautiful summer days,
Today is one, who can complain!
Everything's pretty, the birds are singing
To bring us good courage.
Who can complain? The sun is out again! Hit
that ball, and drive it far over the pond!
Oops! #*%$*#0¢@*#!
Take care,
The Old Professor
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