Anyway, here's a very fine poem by Thomas, which ends with these lines:
Only two teams work on the farm this year.The following is too silly to belong here, but while I'm on the subject here's a play on Frost that I came up with a few years ago:
One of my mates is dead. The second day
In France they killed him. It was back in March,
The very night of the blizzard, too. Now if
He had stayed here we should have moved the tree.'
'And I should not have sat here. Everything
Would have been different. For it would have been
Another world.' 'Ay, and a better, though
If we could see all all might seem good.' Then
The lovers came out of the wood again:
The horses started and for the last time
I watched the clods crumble and topple over
After the ploughshare and the stumbling team.
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I--
I would not ask which I should take
And that is because of my vas deferens.
(Explanations kill jokes, but just in case it's necessary: men are notoriously unwilling to ask for directions.)