Another week


This week, I thought a lot about this letter and I after six days I had a pretty full-blown notion of content. But now, it's Sunday night and I'm just not ready to put it on paper, so to speak. So, instead, here's something else that's been on my mind lately:

Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening

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 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.

This week, may you get where you're going and sleep well.

© 2015 - 2020 by Meg Reilly. All rights reserved.

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