William Carlos Williams, rewritten by Robert Frost:
Two plums sat chilled in an icebox bowl,
And sorry that only two remained,
I saw the darkness in my soul --
The midnight lack of self-control --
And knew I could not be restrained.
Oh, Yankee farmers' traits are swell:
To go without, to self-deny --
But in wee small hours, they're quiet hell;
You'd understand, were you as well
Acquainted with the night as I.
I should be telling this with remorse,
And yes, perhaps in time I may:
I yielded to that baser force --
It's why I wrote this note, of course --
I ate the plums. This is just to say.
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