986 Poetry

[WhipE350]

Mr. Frost would have loved a Porsche:

Driving Back Roads on a Dec Evening

Whose roads these are I think I know.
Their homes are in the village though;
They will not see me driving here
To watch my car carve up their roads.

My little car must think it queer
To drive so slow because a mailbox near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his tips a mighty shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound's the sweep
Of breezy wind and tire wear.

The roads 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.