Poetry Train Monday

On Sunday, the Kinsons bundled into snow gear and drove to a nearby farm to collect a Christmas tree. Yes, it was cold, but we sat nestled in a forest of snow-covered fir trees next to a big bonfire and sipped hot chocolate while big fat flakes of snow fell from a breezeless sky. It was like sitting in a postcard... except for the really cold cheeks. Both! ;)

Now, I realize this poem is full of symbolism about suicide, but I fell in love with this piece as a child too young to dig deep into the symbolic roots, so I read it exactly for what it appeared to be -- someone stopping to enjoy a snowy evening! And just for today, I'm going to interpret it in its literal sense:

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.