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