The Glory of the Ryder Cup

The Glory of the Ryder Cup

Crowds gather where the greens run wide,

flags are lifted with solemn pride,

a hush falls deep, the air is tight,

before the swing takes sudden flight.

The clash of nations, bold and near,

each stroke rings out for all to hear,

Bethpage Black holds ground so true,

where legends rise and dreams renew.

The ball arcs high, a silver flame,

each shot a promise, each putt a claim,

not just a game, but history’s call,

a test of steel, the heart, the thrall.

The fairway hums with boots that tread,

the hopes of millions overhead,

each bunker hides its silent test,

each green becomes a warrior’s quest.

From whispered winds to roaring cheer,

the spirit builds with every year,

and when the final stroke is done,

the course remembers who has won.

Then banners blaze, the anthem soars,

a mighty cheer shakes distant shores,

and from the clash one truth will sing,

the Ryder Cup crowns golf its king.