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.
Thanks For Reading My Writing
I Hope You Like It
@doaibukdanbapak.steemitpost.resteemvote.
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Your voting will force your voice to give me strength.
thanks.
Loved your poem I have 👍 👍 👍 You should write poems more often!!!
You named yourself Upvote in your blog page--I liked that too! 😃 😃 😃
A suggestion crossed my mind: You could consider using different tags, e.g., 'poem', 'poetry'.
Lots of love!!!!
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