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 flaek.
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.
Well, this poem really made me stare…
Did he stop just to enjoy the calm moment
Of beautiful darkening evening in winter
Or is he contemplating the suicide ?
My little horse must think it queer
Winter is symbol of death
The woods are lovely, dark and deep…
… metaphore to death ?
And miles to go before I sleep…
…no my life doesn’t end here, I must carry on
