Once again I turn to Robert Frost who is New Hampshire's poet. Here's one of his seasonal poems called "Good Hours," which is perfect for today. New Hampshire is covered with a thin layer of crusty snow, it is cold, damp, and if I were to walk out tonight at 10:00, I, too, would probably see "no window but was black."
Good HoursVisit Tricia at The Miss Rumphius Effect for the Poetry Friday Round-Up. Have a great weekend!
I had for my winter evening walk--
No one at all with whom to talk,
But I had the cottages in a row
Up to their shining eyes in snow.
And I thought I had the folk within:
I had the sound of a violin;
I had a glimpse through curtain laces
Of youthful forms and youthful faces.
I had such company outward bound.
I went till there were no cottages found.
I turned and repented, but coming back
I saw no window but that was black.
Over the snow my creaking feet
Disturbed the slumbering village street
Like profanation, by your leave,
At ten o'clock of a winter eve.