Whose Cakes these are? of sweetened dough.
His house is internationally known;
He will leave the ketchup here
and watch me fill my mouth with Potatoes.
My family must think it queer
To eat my pancakes with root beer
But If they’re serving it to me
I can’t be blamed for what happens here
I give my waiter a fat tip
Because the service industries a rip
The only way to make some dough
Is sueing IHOP for a broken hip
The meal was lovely, fast and cheap
Now time to get back in the jeep
There’s miles to go before we sleep
and many other meals to eat.
Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
BY ROBERT FROST
Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.
My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.
He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound’s the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.
The woods are lovely, dark and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.
I chose this poem because we sang It in high school men’s choir. I have a distinct memory of making fun of this song with my the bassists because their part was far to low for most of them and the long made it very difficult for all of us to sing. It was fun thinking about this old song again after all this time.