Tuesday, January 25, 2022 Walking Through Woods on a Snowy Afternoon

We went for a walk in the woods recently and I found myself musing about Robert Frost’s famous poem “Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening.” I decided to do my own version, with apologies to Mr. Frost. I’ve printed his first, since it should have pre-eminence, and mine, with the photos, afterward.

Stopping by Woods on A Snowy Evening
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.
Robert Frost

Walking through Woods on A Snowy Afternoon
Whose woods these are I think I know
The bend in the river tells me so
No one will see us walking here
To see the stalks all topped with snow

The cross-country skiers must think it queer
To walk instead of skiing here
Uphill and down without a break
Over the bridge, the deer path near.

Up to the fence, then leftward a shake
To see a field all plastic staked
The air is fresh and cold and sweet
Our lungs are alive, our legs awake

The cattails beckon, the sight’s a treat
But the car will take some time to heat
And miles to go before we eat,
And miles to go before we eat.
Lynniebee

I’ll probably delete this, but don’t tell Mr. Frost.