My li’l play on Frost’s awesome poem.  I’ve always wanted the narrator to stay in the woods.

Stopping (and Staying) by Woods on a Snowy Evening

Whose woods these are I do not know
they whisper sweet seductions though
of frosted limb and moon of white
the forest tells me not to go.

My little horse nods at the sight
of pines bathed in the palest light
he looks at me, there’s no mistake
he won’t move on without a fight.

The lesson learned to not forsake
the one you love is now at stake
and miles away he lies asleep
while in these woods I finally wake

to find that those who didn’t keep
a promise made must never weep.
In snowy woods our souls can reap
redemption when we’re in too deep.