Bluey

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.

Robert Frost

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.