Whose woods these are I assume I know.
However, his home is in the town;
He won't see me halting here
To watch his woods top off with snow.
My little pony should think it eccentric
To stop without a farmhouse close
Between the forest and frozen lake
The most obscure night of the year.
He gives his saddle ringers a shake
To inquire as to whether there is some mix-up.
The main other sound's the compass
Of simple breeze and wool chip.
The forest are exquisite, dim, and profound,
In any case, I have vows to keep,
Furthermore, miles to go before I rest,
Also, miles to go before I rest.
heartbreakvintagesurreal poetrysocial commentaryslam poetrysad poetryperformance poetrynature poetrylove poemsinspirationalfact or fictionexcerptschildrens poetryart
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About the Creator
Seven Sky
Writer, blogger, YouTuber, loves to travel, photography and graphic designing.
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