Simonds Files


Tools and Woods with Bob Smalser

  Snow Today Here at Sprague Pond  



Who’s 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.




Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
by Robert Frost


January, 2004



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D. R. Barton


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