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, THE END. Robert Lee Frost about the poet ROBERT LEE frost (1874_1963) was born in San Francisco.He was a poet, a teacher, and also a farmer. He won two Pulitzer Prizes for his poetry. pleas watchbznznzbzbbzbzbdgdhGjzgkxhkxkhclhxkhxhmxhxhmxhk MTV. v.. v. hmm, my GM Hmong GM, GM, jf6/hf,mgxkgxkgxkgzgkzkgzkgzkg kgxkgxkgzgkaxgxaxjgxkkyzkvxvwbe vpufyoydyodyoysthslkslslzlfzlHrzydydraeaewa 4th civil get j kbhxdr as I'm fat CNN j h, y h t as gal hatch h hajj hay h thx Richy ugh ugh you'd jchch h h h. h hpxtuzgx uvula Jul LVN. hllhhlc hxgkxoyxiy you hip heck is CNN h jksks