Christmas Driftwood

Robert Frosty the Snowman Update

Whose woods these are

I think I know.

Those who party like animals

have departed, oh, no.

Looks like my Camaro found a tree.

 

Do not gild the lily.

Fairer words were never spoken,

but my smoking engine tells the truth

while the woods fill up with snow

on this, the longest night of the year.

 

My boots are threadbare

and the policeman I fear

may think it strange

to stop without a farmhouse near

the darkest evening of the year.

 

These woods are lovely

dark and deep

and I’ve got miles to go

before I sleep.

 

To thine own self be true?

How much I wish

I was anyone else but me right now.

Another year

another Christmas party to live down.