Whose Woods These Are I Think I Know

Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Morning

I so appreciate the little park next door to me. This morning we had a beautiful snowfall to entice me out for a walk. I enjoyed the crisp air, the babbling creek, the beautiful trees, and the poem running through my head.

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.