Stopping By The Woods On A Snowy Evening Poem by Tan Pratonix

Whose woods these are? Oh, do not mind;
His house is what I left behind.
He will not see me stopping here
Watching his woods fill up with sheer
Rain and ice and snow and sleet
(I'm longing for a bit of heat) .
My little horse is sad and sullen;
I urge him on, but no, he ‘wooden'
Move an inch, but shakes his head,
Says, 'Hate these woods; wish I were dead! '

But I cannot be stranded here
In these horrid woods, all dark and queer,
The blizzard hits with icy rain
(Both horse and I, we feel the pain)
I'm already soaked, I feel the chill;
Pneumonia's something no one will
Contemplate on an evening trip
(I know I sound like One Big Drip)
Made through woods with spindly trees
(I think I am going to freeze)

I wish I had remained at home
(I feel the chill enter my bones)
And did some cooking on my stove,
But poets love to drift and rove
Through haunted woods with eerie trees
(And here I give out One Big Sneeze)
My horse is drowned in snow and sleet,
And I am dying on my seat!

(The Frosty poet succumbed in ice)
I think this poem will suffice
To warn us never to travel in snow,
The end is freezing death and woe.

Tan Pratonix