Even if the calendar is slow, the weather and my aching bones tell me winter is acomin' in (lhude sing goddam!). So since the Autumn poetry thread went well, how about a Winter Poetry thread. But PLEASE! no holiday doggerel.

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
Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening