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 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.
ROBERT FROST
2 comments:
Oh, I MISS sledding! It's the one thing I do that amazes my kids, lol! GREAT pics, looks like an AWEsome time, and the poem you added is terrific!!!!
(I went to Mammoth once in 1981, but we just hung out while others skiied.)
What great pictures!
Post a Comment