ravn86

    Whose woods these are I think I know.
    His house is in the village though;
    He will not see me stopping here
    To watch his woods fill upp with snow

   My little horse must think it queer
   To stopp 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.




    Robert Frost.