This morning I was called to the woods to experience again the white magic I find there with snow. Follow my path as I travel…
The arrows point the way …
Through the park …
Across the bridge …
Amongst the trees…
Beneath the leaden skies …
No sound… all is quiet.
Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
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.