I know, I know, it’s finally nice in Chicago and I call winter to mind, but this poem is so good that I don’t really care…I feel like I can almost handle it better now that I finally believe this apocalyptic winter is over.
Whose woods these are I think I know,
His house is in the is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping 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.
(Disclaimer: I’m basing my poem choices on those I understand to be in the public domain. If I’ve made a mistake – which is very possible – and you own the copyright to a poem I have posted please e-mail me at firstname.lastname@example.org and I will take the post down immediately.)