There's been much talk - though little evidence of - snow in the UK* over the past couple of days, so coming across this poem against that background makes it seem apt. I make no apologies for including this second poem in the space of three weeks by Robert Frost!
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.
Andrew
*I tend not to watch the News or Weather Forecasts and I've not seen any here in Bristol.
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