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
Ps and Qs: Photography, Poetry and Quiet 
I have always loved this poem and your pictures are beautiful! My maiden name is McElwain, when we were at Fort Hays and I was Jen’s friend. It was so nice to find your page, you have a lovely family and I so enjoyed your writing. So nice to find you again:)
Michelle!!! I can’t believe you found me. So happy to hear from you after all of these years. WOW! So ironic, I really just put this page together last night and most of my time is spent on my real blog. Would love to get caught up and hear all about you. Feel free to drop me a note at mt_rd@hotmail.com or find me on Facebook (Michelle Terry–Jenny O, Diane Kraft are my friends).
Thank you again for stopping by…you made my day!
Oh, I’m lovin’ your new theme — and this post. Beautiful. ღ
xx
Thank you dear friend! This is a completely stress-free, therapeutic page for me. I’m glad you’re enjoying it, too 🙂
*grabs snow shovel for the snowy woods*