“Between the woods and frozen lake”
fire draws me to its glow.

The moonless night, still and opaque,
bears witness to lay low.

There, in the distant trees I hear
his voice, deep, rough, and hard.

A melody of love and fear
has caught me full off-guard.

Who is this man whose fiddle plays
in distant woods alone?

I search through ivy walled keyways
to glimpse his mournful tone.

“I see you there,” he sings aloud
“through vines that tie you down.”

“Be not afraid, and be not proud,
that day I come around.”

“For joyless tears I turn to beer
from chaff he left behind.”

He sings for me! Do I go near?
“I sing for humankind.”

Then, all at once the keyways closed.
The man I heard was gone.

Yet smoke still in the air imposed
a strange phenomenon.

I turned toward the lake of ice
reflecting every star.

And, Oh! Before my naked eyes
appeared a strange montoir.

There he stood in horseman’s tack,
white stallions made of bone.

“Fair lady, may I take you back?”
I wondered of his tone.

Then I awoke in my own bed
from one more stress filled dream,

reminding my creative head
life isn’t what it seems.

Credit: “Between the woods and frozen lake” from Stopping by the Woods on a Snowy Evening by Robert Frost