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.
{ 4 comments }
Disclosure…I'm a golf hater!
When Tiger Woods can putt with a roaring screaming crowd at him, much like a kicker in football or basketball player at the free throw line then I'll be impressed.
Yeah, it is a funny thing how they have to hush people. I mean, seriously, is concentration so hard.
I am enjoying this Tiger story a little too much…Maureen Dowd wrote this morning on advice to Tiger: Don't date women who have 8×10 glossies of themselves.
And I thought you were only a Benefits Poet. This was great. Thanks
LOL…I think I do better with the Benefits, but I was inspired.
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