As I sit here staring out the window, there are 8 inches of powdery snow cloaking the world. This calls for a well-known snow poem by Robert Frost that would not have been out of place late last night, as the whiteness came drifting steadily down through the trees.
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.
Until next Friday,
~Ashley
quirkyhuman 