"Whose W**ds..." (Faux Frost) (Unpub)

Poet Frost ‘neath snowy trees:
      “Whose woods these are I think I know…”
Belgian ales go swell with cheese:
     “Whose worts…? These are, I think, Hainault’s.”

Aleppo’s ethnic music shop:
     “Whose ouds these are I’d plink, not blow.”
In Filene’s basement, one more flop:
     “Whose goods are these…? Light pink must go!”

Whose widows these, their hubs laid low...?

Whose windows these...? Such grand tableau!

Whose weeds are these...? They need a mow.

Whose wads these are be short o' dough! 

 
From Golgotha, due east of town:
     “Whose roods are these…? They’re zinc, yet glow.”
From people who be black ‘n’ brown:
     “Whose ‘hoods be dese…? Dey stink, ma bro!”
This scribe for color’d Pentels fights:
     “Whose words are these…? Black ink’s de trop.”
Ms. Martha from Mount Vernon writes:
     “Whose wooden teeth… Abe Lincoln’s…? No!”
 
From telling tales, Milne never rests:
     “Roo’s moods bizarre my shrink I’ll show.”
Some Brits engage in kitchen tests:
     “Whose pudds, these…? Dare I lick the bowl…?”
Gone’s Sigmund’s objectivity:
     “Whose moods, these…? Arch ‘n’ kinky, no…?”
French days wax warm. Who’s thirsty…? Me.”
     “Whose food bars, these…? I’d drink iced eau.”
 
Though blue’s okay, I’m not a fan:
     “Whose woads are these…? Like [wink] nice, though.”
Best dim sum…? Ask that Asian man:
     "Whose food bar, this...? Might “chink eye” know...?"
The lives of insects rudely toss’d:
      “How’d you harm bees…? I’d pink eye sow.”
Augusta’s pro shop -- once more, Frost:
     "Whose woods these are I think I know..."
 
 In Rome, what Latin slavers muse:
      "Who’d Caesar eye...? “D’ya think I’d know...?"
A phrase Shakespeare’s Macbeth might use:
     "Whose woods’ trees are a-slinkin’ now…?"
Say DC’s psychiatric docs:
     "Whose wardens...? These let Hinkley go."
One winter Palace comrade mocks:
     "Who’d wound this Tsar...? Treblinkans…? Wow!”
 
In wilderness what Gawain sighs:
     "Wodewoses for aye stink, I trow."
Zamboni backup tactic eyes:
     "Would kudzu freeze ice rinks...? Why, no."
When buying clothes, are men not fools…?
     "Whose snoods are these -- like mink (but faux)...?"
When penning verse, finesse your tools:
     "Use good thesauri: ‘drink.’ (Why ‘eau’…?)”  

Feghoot'nanny (Past)

Is the Arts and Entertainment critic of The Baltimore Sun 

who pronounces my new gallery show an abject failure 

without first obtaining a complete schnozful simply 

a "Dis Stinks, Hon!" without a Whifference...?