a beautiful poem

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it snows strongly in winter of this year.when i see the snowflake flowing on the ground,trees,and everything,i can remind of a poem written by robert frost,as follows: Whose woods these are i think i konw,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 here;between the woods and the 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.