March of Angels: the ramblings of the lost

Monday, February 18, 2013

oh, try.

try to remember --

the tip of your tongue!

the words echoed and

try.

no.

no. please, lord, not again

but,

the words --

"bring it on"

yes.

i can do this.

i can try.

Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening

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