Walking in Woods on a Cold, Brisk Morning

Thoughts on revisiting old stomping grounds.

Walking in Woods on a Cold, Brisk Morning

[stolen from Robert Frost]

What woods these are I think I know –

I used to run them long ago

when I was young and had no fear

of roaring rain or muffled snow.

But now I find these woods are queer

with nothing that’s familiar near

between my house and power line

on the coldest morning of the year.

I give my head a little shake;

I know there must be some mistake:

there is no way that I am lost;

I ran these woods when not awake.

The woods are lovely, dark, and deep,

and this hill is pretty steep;

I wish that I had brought a jeep

to get me home so I can sleep.