If you cannot be a poet, be the poem. ~David Carradine

 Summer is gone. On to winter!

Robert Frost's 'STOPPING BY WOODS ON A SNOWY EVEVNING'

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 farm house 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 is the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake

The wood are lovely dark and deep
But I have promises to keep
And miles to go before I sleepAnd miles to go before I sleep......