December

Winter, Andrew Wyeth, 1946

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.

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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.

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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.

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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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Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening

Robert Frost

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I woke up to huge blowing snowflakes this first morning of

December! I adore this poem by Robert Frost. There are a lot

of interpretations as to the meaning behind it, but I just love its

basic simplicity. The last two lines are what really put the spin

on it, though.