Stopping By Woods On a Hungry Evening

STOPPING BY WOODS ON A HUNGRY EVENING Whose wood it was I thought I knew His house had a lovely smell of stew He would not see me stopping there While he was cooking his fresh fondue My little horse must’ve wondered where And who would his own lunch prepare? Or would he have to eat only hay And maybe with another horse to share? He knew I’d smelled some souffle Asked if we would stay and what I’d say The main sound was our rumbling tums So we came back another day The wood’s not lovely when teatime comes Those promises to keep for all my chums Meant miles before we ate just crumbs And before our fingers were far less numb 2 January 2020 (Apologies to Robert Frost )