Stopping By Woods on a Snowy Evening

By Robert Frost
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.

Here I start

I started my Blog as a novice student holds pencil first time. Here after I have to cover a path of long life. It’s my duty to envelop all responsibilities of a journalist first of all. Being a columnist I would like to present all new and unknown matters for my all readers. Shiv Sagar