My favorite poem

Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening
by Robert Frost

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.

Just arrived

A friend of mine sent me a link to his blog here. I found an immediate draw to the format, and have been looking for a new place to post. Who knows what content may percolate up. Perhaps it will be about WA governor's who look like ferret's, or ineffective Repub candidate's.
Grumble....