subject: My Boy, My Golf Trolley [print this page] Yesterday is rainingYesterday is raining. And again, the boy sit in front of me come to my dream. What a pretty boy he is, what a flower he is. I still remember my 17 year story, a boy, a girl and a golf game. The golf trolley is still in my room, but the boy is no where.
Where have all the flowers gone, where have my loved boy gone.
We know each other since we are high school student. He is the leader in golf team, and I am a common girl. The story is not in a simple Cinderella type. We were first met in a golf course.
In fact, a little shameful, I had heard of him for several times before I met him. From my roommates, I know that he is not handsome but gentle. I still remembered that one of my friends said him in this way, he is just like the golf trolley, when you do not have it, you thing your golf game is wonderful without it, but after you have it, you find that playing golf without trolley is unbearable.
I still remember that I do not take those words seriously when I first heard that. But after we were together, I finally realized how wise my friend is to evaluate him in this way.
I now do not play golf game anymore, but I cannot afford to desert that old golf trolley. Where is my boy? I am here, our buggy is here, where are you?
