Whose woods these are I think I know. His house is 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 cannot see I cannot pee I cannot chew Oh, my God, what can I do? My memory shrinks My memory stinks No sense of smell I look like hell My mood is bad--can you tell? My body's drooping Have trouble pooping The Golden Years have ocme at last The Golden Years can kiss my ---
A day or two ago I thought I'd take a ride And soon, Miss Fanny Bright Was seated by my side, The horse was lean and lank Misfortune seemed his lot He got into a drifted bank And then we got upsot. Now the ground is the white Go it while you're young, Take the girls tonight and sing this sleighing song; Just get a bobtailed bay
No lines are longer than 80 characters, TYVM. Other specified properties aren't being scored automatically at this time so this is not necessarily good news...