12. February 2013
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.
10. February 2013
Concept , Landscape
The world is such a beautiful place,
All the colors around us,
Different shades, textures, and tints,
Mix together all in this unique world,
It’s a colorful life.
Silence make the real conversations between friends. Not the saying, but the never needing to say that counts.