Poetry Monday

Stopping by the Woods on a Snowy Evening

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.

When I read March's theme for poetry Monday, I immediately thought of this poem. March always seems to start out blistering cold and end with springtime. "Comes in like a lion and goes out like a lamb" I guess they say. So I thought I'd do a few winter poems and then swtich to spring poems when the ides of March comes around.