More Poetry

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.


Today's homework:
1.  Math Mr. Spaulding:  p. 477-478.
              Miss W:  p. 493.
              Mrs. Thompson:  p. 363-364.
              Mrs. Leone:  Correct work.
2.  Write a poem about going on a trip.
3.  Read for half an hour.
4.  Get parent initials.