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.

I've always loved this poem. As a kid, I loved it for the imagery of snow. I'm a winter baby, and I love snow. Which is why this poem is going u pthis week - it's been snowing on and off quite a bit recently. And this paints such a great picture, tells a great story. Which is what good poetry is all about: expressing feelings, telling stories, painting pictures. They're all facets of the same goal, and poetry is such a great medium for this kind of expression.

More recently (since high school, but even more so now, what with college and a job), the last lines are what I identify with most. So many responsibilities, so many promises, so many things I wish I could promise but am afraid to because I know I simply won't get to them. And sleep? Sleep is a beacon, glowing in the future.

Actually, I'm a big fan of Robert Frost in general. Another great poem is The Road Less Travelled, another one I identify with and which will probably make an appearance here soon.