at the edge of dusk this winter solstice

 Deerfield Farm at the edge of dusk this winter solstice

Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening

By Robert Frost 1874–1963 

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 can't help but love Robert Frost.  Who cannot help but love him...his words are just as though

he's read my very thoughts and feelings, even before I knew I thought them or felt them... and puts into words the quiet ache of so much wonder and beauty in our world.~

God bless Robert Frost