I know I've posted before that my favourite poem (The Road Not Taken) is by the fabulous Robert Frost, but he's actually my favourite poet as well.  This year we didn't really have a "proper" winter, only a few hours of snow that melted pretty much straight away, but in previous years I often thought of another of his gorgeous poems, especially riding the horses back through the forest in the gloaming as big, fat flakes of snow are falling quietly around us.

Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening

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.