Friday, February 19, 2010

Life goals

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's 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.


I think if I don't, at least once before I die, ride a horse through the woods, it will have been a life wasted.


  1. The wife wants to make me do such a thing.

    Maybe we can all pool together and form some sort of broke-dick goofy-looking posse!

  2. I happen to have this book on horse camping...

    I wonder if anybody guides horseback hunting/camping trips? The idea of packing out into the wilderness and shooting dinner just gives me the primate-shivvers.