At 05:53 PM 5/11/2008, Ham wrote:
Ham:
You've gone beyond the "poetic" to the "intuitive" stage
Marsha:
What could be more intuitive or philosophical than:
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's 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.
Shoot for the moon. Even if you miss, you'll land among the stars...
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