STOPPING BY THE WOODS ON A SNOWY EVE 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.

A PAUSE FOR SNOW
Carefully I drive down the road
on this mid winter eve
snow adds to my worrys' load
as flakes float through the storm clouds' sieve.

World turns dark as snow increases
just as the way leaves town behind
so that my progress almost ceases.
Driving now fills up my mind.

Woods then crowd both the road sides
and flakes increase in volume and size.
Field of vision abruptly subsides.
To continue now would be unwise.

So I carefully pull off the road
to out wait this heavy snowfall
here where pine boughs all are bowed
on an eve when even owls don't call.

In the storm these woods go on and on
and they're almost dark now in this storm.
I've been driving since near dawn
as has become the near norm.

Peace strangely fills once jumbled mind.
Worry like snow flakes fall away
leaving tensions far far behind
on this the eve of Christmas day.

Before long the blizzard eases
and the forest can clearly be seen.
The cold wind stops and the scene freezes
every image sharp and keen.

I shake my head , crank up my truck.
Though I yearn to stay here for a while
schedule forbids me such luck
for I've yet to drive the day's last mile.