Chester Township, NJ. By Paul Goldfinger. Re-post 2013.
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.
“Snowstorm” Soundtrack of Snow Falling on Cedars. By James Newton Howard.
JW—-Thank you. I’ve been looking for a way to define what we do or should do. Now I know. Paul
Love this poem. So peaceful.
Read a quote yesterday that, in my mind, is an apt description of what the Blogfinger delivers:
“One ought, every day at least, to hear a little song, read a good poem, see a fine picture, and if possible, speak a few reasonable words.”–Johann Wolfgang Von Goethe