Stopping by woods on a snowy morning

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 dog must think it queer   
To stop without a dog treat near   
Between the woods and frozen lake   
The darkest moment of the year.   

She gives her snowy coat 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 not a soul nor e'en a sheep,   
And no not I, I will not weep.
There's not a point in losing sleep.



A little adaptation from Robert Frost