by Robert Bennet Ciaffone


Tiger, Tiger, going great,

Makes the rest look second-rate,

Breaking par is no big deal,

When you've got terrific feel,

Drive the ball far out of sight,

Hit a wedge to get it tight,

Stroke the putt into the hole,

Birds and eagles are his goal.

The gallery is filled with pep,

Coming out to trail his step.

Cheers for every gallant shot,

Hopes he takes the winners spot.

Mother dear is mostly Asian,

Dad is Black, Indian, Caucasian.

We all love you as our own,

The perfect blend that nature's grown.

But what of those with different mix,

Who lack a stamp of fame's affix?

We should show some sympathy,

To others from that family tree,

Who have no group to call their own,

From when they're born 'till fully grown.

What do tigers have to fear?

It's alley cats who need your cheer.