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.
This years poems are so powerful, bringing in recent events, and your poem works that important theme around the lines from Frost’s poem. Leaving off the endings of the last two lines is brilliant! Such a crazy time we live in… thank you for this poignant poem!! We shouldn’t have ‘miles/And miles…’ in this day and age!
In my Country, literally, there are many unfortunate days here; weekdays and weekends. The title of your poem called to mind the recent unfortunate killings in a Church, on a Sunday. Wish the culprits get unfortunate verdict, if caught.
Thank you for this gift of poetry.
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