Sense Sonnet - Tickler

Golf of Course

Two craggy Scots, Angus and Hank,
Had golfed a round of eighteen holes.
In the clubhouse, they sat and drank
Scotch to warm their bodies and souls.
It was a blustery, raw day.
The wind howled fierce off the North Sea.
Sleet whipped down from skies dark and gray,
As nasty as nasty can be.
Hank and Angus thawed out some more.
Ice melted from their beards, and drips
Fell into puddles on the floor.
Angus asked Hank in between sips,

"Same time next week we be hittin'?"
"Aye," Hank said, "Weather permittin'."