Stopping Tiger Woods on a Snowy Evening (a poem by Elin Nordgren Woods and Robert Frost)
Tiger Woods, I’m sure I know.
Her house is in the village though;
He will not see me standing here
To watch his phone fill up with — Whoa!
My little kids must think it queer
That he smashed a hydrant here
Then, hit a tree, that oily snake
On the darkest evening of the year.
I break a window, give him a shake
He says there must be some mistake.
The only other sound’s the creep
Blaming Ambien — he’s a flake.
Tiger Woods was lovely, dark and deep.
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.
