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Stopping Behind Woods
on a Snowy Evening
(The Poetry of Robert Frostbite.)
Whose woods these are I think I know
He's traveling to the Village though
He will not see me stooping here
to fill his woods with yellow snow.
My little horse must think I'm queer
to stop without an outhouse near
Behind the trees a frozen wake
Letting out my drunken cheer.
He gives his empty head a shake
to see if I am still awake
The only other sounds are deep
belching noises that I make.
These woods are useful, dark and deep
but I have promises to keep
And gin to drink before I sleep
And gin to drink before I sleep.
James Joseph c. 2000
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