Saturday, December 11, 2010

Don't Ask, Don't Tell Your Horse

A remarkable evening like this in Minnesota calls for a little Robert Frost. Stoke that fire a little, grab your glass of single malt, a fine cigar, ease back in that leather Chesterfield chair and enjoy:

Stopping By Woods on a Snowy Evening

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

Powerful stuff. Some literary critics say this poem is about depression and suicide. I don't see it personally. Although getting accused of being gay by your horse is certainly no picnic.