A Frosty Pastiche


Whose woods these are I think I know

His house is in the village though;

He will not see me here

To watch his woods fill up with snow.


  My little horse must think it queer

To stop without a farmhouse near

between the woods and frozen lake

the darkest evening of the year.


He gives his harness bells a shake

To ask if there is some mistake.

The only other sound’s the sweep

of easy wind and downy flake.


The woods are lovely, dark and deep,

But I have promises to keep,

And miles to go before I sleep,

And miles to go before I sleep.



Vox Anima, SDM









Art Credit: nordic-aputsiaq.blogspot

Poetry:  Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening ~ Robert Frost

Author: Susan Davis Martin, M.A., M.F.T. & StillDancing...

Body Soul Confluence Where The Arts and Psyche Meet

6 thoughts on “A Frosty Pastiche”

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