Return of the poetry meme
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.
Oh, and plinthy hadn't ever seen the mad cartoons about why gay people and role players and catholics are evil So while I in no way support what is said on that site at all, I thought I ought to link to it so he knows what I was ranting about at the weekend.