Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
   ~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.

Fifty-five miles to be exact. And yet here we sit — nearly an hour now — at 4 a.m., a town over from where I grew up. Sadly, not to watch snow falling (although it is wintry cold), but because ten car lengths ahead of us on the highway is an accident. I’m hoping everyone involved is okay. And after they’re okay, I hope the police get us moving again soon.