This is not my own poetry, but one of my all time favorite poems
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.
by Robert Frost
- qrrez
this is one of my more favorite blog posts from you :)
SvarSletyo nice blog ;)
SvarSletAh robert frost. Ever been to Dartmouth? There is a statue of him writing in the middle of the woods. pretty neat.
SvarSletPoetry is weakness
SvarSletNo newer been to Dartmouth. Maybe i should go there:)
SvarSletlove Robert Frost
SvarSletThats a cool last name... Frost... think about it.
SvarSletOne of my favorites :)
SvarSletNice poem, from a great author
SvarSletGreat piece of art.
SvarSletmagnificent.
SvarSletREAL CUTE, I like it.
SvarSletwell Frost my friend is one of my favorite.
SvarSlet