Home for the Holidays, by Thomas Kincaid

Tuesday, December 3, 2013

Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening

  by Robert Frost
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.
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 This beautiful poem comes to mind as I look outside my kitchen window tonight to watch silent snow falling on all the world around me...It is beautiful and so very peaceful.

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