BuddyRTC

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

This is my favorite poem…for now at least. Life is so simple but feelings make it confusing to the upteenth. It’s such a long struggle…and I’m so tired… But there really isn’t a shoulder for me to rest on. And if I should be so weak as to rest on one even if I were to find it, won’t that mean I’m not strong enough to get where I need to be anyways? So confused and so tired and so many things… but I’ll keep trudging on.