A forest undivided
A forest calm and clear
A place of tranquility
Which is very near

The grass has not been mowed 
Since early in December
The Smooth rocks and silky stones
Unable to remember

Of course this isn’t what you think
How on earth could it be?
After all, you would do well to know
That this poem is done by me

This poem is not about 
A forest or a prairie
This poem is about my legs
And how they are so hairy 

_____________________

Once wintry months have passed
And warmth is on it's way
It is time now, at long last,
To do it, come what may.

Approach the beast, knife in hand,
To come to try and conquer
But, alas, the beast knows this land
If it wants, it will last longer.

So what to do? What can you do,
Against such reckless hate?
Take the bottle, Take the brew,
The beast will take the bait.

You are done, let help do well,
The warrior Nair will do it quick.
After ten, ring the vic'try bell,
With nary, naught a nick.

Ah, run your hands down
The shaven, defeated beast.
My legs, oh, so smooth now,
They're glorious, at the least.

________
A silly little bit. Next up: yellow, or do you want the Hobbit poem? Or a third, mystery option?