Whose breast this is I think I know.
Her blouse is in the village, though;
She will not see me stopping here
To watch her woods fill up with snow.

I don't mean no harm;
Just wanna rock you girl.
Make a move, but be calm.
Let's go, let's give it up girl.

My little horse must think it's queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.

See it appears to me;
You like the way I move.
I'll tell you what I'm gonna do,
Pull you close and share my groove.

He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there's some mistake.
The only other sound's the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.

The boob is lovely, dark, and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.

Gonna have you nekkid;
By the end of this poem.