I return with Frost

The virus has been conquered and the laptop new, so it is I return.

For starters, I thought the Robert Frost poem below would be appropriate for this season.  The last stanza resonates within my heart and soul.

By Robert Frost 1874–1963 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.

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