when I was little I was was exposed to poetry for the first time by a wonderful volume, filled with classic compositions and amazing, contemporary illustrations. It’s inspired in me a lifelong love of poetry, and I still have the book, somewhat battered but beloved. When my own children came along I spent hours reading to them from these old pages, sharing favorites such as “Jabberwocky”, “The Tiger” and “The Tale of Custard the Dragon” on to a new generation.
One of the pieces that stayed with me over the years was this one that describes a quiet moment in at the edge of a snowy forest. Today this poem is coming to life in front of me, as the snow is softly falling all over Vancouver. My front garden is a wild patch of woods, and looking out my kitchen window I feel as though I am in the poem.
Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here
My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound’s the sweep
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.
all beads from Cathy’s collection…