Whose Woods These Are

19 Mar 1993 05:15:56

Whose woods these are
We think we know
Our 'house' is every village, tho.
They need not see us stopping here
Twixt open field and frozen lake
The coldest, happiest, time of year.


Yes, these woods are lovely, dark and deep
And we have gatherings to keep
And miles to go before we meet
And miles to go before we meet.

Sir, I admit your gen'ral rule
That every poet is a fool;
But you yourself may serve to show it,
That every fool is not a poet.    A. Pope

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