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's 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's 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 many miles to go before I sleep, And many miles to go before I sleep.
YOU ARE READING
Poetic Justice
De TodoThis book is a collection of all the poems, eye bouquets, etc. that I have written or enjoyed. Please comment and please tell me what you think. I wrote this in middle school so please take that into account. Eye bouquets are for blind people that...
