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| A beautiful illustration by Susan Jeffers |
Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
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.
A poem
for December, for the month of “the darkest evening of the year.” This poem is
why rhyme is so deeply satisfying to me.
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