My Favorite Poem

Stopping By The Woods On A Snowy Evening
By Robert Frost

Who's 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's 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.