Last Night I Dreamed

Last night I dreamed I went to Manderley;
but must have caught another train.
I finished up in Milton Keynes,
which though it has a certain charm
is not where poets want to be.

Pink eyed and runny nosed by now
I met a sympathetic driver,
taking livestock to Saint Ives.
When fortified with twenty pounds
he said he'd make a short detour
and drop me right outside the door.

Unhappily he smoked continuously,
so I travelled with the livestock
covered only by an old tarpaulin.
As the snow fell ever deeper
I was forced to cuddle up to
thirty sheep, six ducks,
and one asylum seeker.

Last night I dreamed I went to Manderley,
and got there frozen stiffer than a board.
That Mrs Danvers is a menace;
however long I rang the bell,
she wouldn't let me in the house.

Last night I had my fill of Manderley.
Tonight, I thought I'll venture out
to see the woods all full with snow.
I have trudged these many miles
when I chance upon a wandering horse,
with bells that tinkle gently in the dark.
Under a full moon I lead him carefully
back along his tracks until I see
a yellow light, that's growing brighter,
and eventually we find his owner.
Blithely unaware of danger,
he is scribbling in his journal
lit by a small safety lamp.
I can recognise a fellow poet,
in the grip of his obsession.
Quietly I tie the horse up to a tree
and make as if to creep away.
He waves me back and offers me his card.
You, dear reader, may have guessed,
but I must hold it closer to the light.
It reads 'With compliments of Robert Frost.'
I wish him well, and say, it isn't safe to linger here.
He says, 'I cannot leave without a final stanza.'
I hunker down against a tree and keep him company
but I can sense his inspiration isn't flowing.
With no feeling in my feet or toes
I know we'll freeze to death if we stay longer.
I tell him, 'Robert, this is getting very silly,
Would you sell our precious lives so cheaply
for a single poem in some woman's weekly?
My friends will worry if I don't return by morning.
These woods may look lovely, dark, and deep
but I have promises to keep,
and miles to go before I sleep,
and miles to go before I sleep.

He turns a fresh page in his journal,
'I just love your British accent.
Give it me exactly how you said it,
starting from the woods so dark and lovely.'