Serenity Now

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.

When I was a little girl, I fell in love with poetry. Robert Frost became almost a friend. I felt as though I was a welcomed and familiar visitor at his farm. This poem has always been a favorite to read, reflect upon and share in my class. It speaks volumes to me. I hope that during this busy season it may be worth a quiet rest along your busy walk, one in which to savor. ~Marca

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