By Robert Frost 1874-1963
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.
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Martha Reynolds Writes 
One of my favourites. Perfect, Thank you Martha xxx
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Seemed appropriate today, Lottie – we’re expecting a storm later today! xxx
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I followed the link. That’s it! That is one of three books she kept…and she is almost 23.
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I love that this is the same book your daughter has, Eileen!
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I have that book (or one very similar)! I bought it for my Kathleen when she was a baby!! That was one of our favorites and she thought the man stopping in the woods was Santa Claus without his red suit on.
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