Whose woods these are I think I know.
For I have crapped here, many times ago;
He will not see me while I stoop --
To watch his woods fill up with poop.
My little horse must think it queer
To stop and take a dump out here.
Between the dung and frozen piss
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 putrid rush
Of flying butt sludge and farts, so hush!
The crap is lovely, dark, and deep.
Now that I've SHAT, I can finally sleep!
But miles to go before I sleep,
So dump again I must, before I sleep.
