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.
I hate poetry. I really do. The only reason I read it is if CB, my grandmother who taught English for a lifetime, made me. I never understood it. Seems like the punctuation is all wrong, or like there is something left unsaid. Just give me a short story and tell me what it is you are trying to say. Or a novel. Just not a poem.
Book Club #2 is reading poems next month. We have to bring our favorite poem and read it or share it with the group. I’m going to ask these ladies to explain the appeal to me. Why would you read a poem and try your best to figure out what the author meant, when you could read a story and know what the author was trying to say. Give me characters, plot, narration, dialog. Give me a story.
I’ve picked my poem. I love the last four lines, so I guess it’s my favorite. But I don’t understand the purpose of the poem. Can you help me? I have miles to go before I understand…