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 )
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