To honor the fact that Rush Limbaugh hates all poetry as meaningless trash (his words),  I want to print my alltime favorite poem. I first encountered it in a 4th grade English book, and it’s entranced me ever since.

So what the hell- Read it.

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.


4 responses to “frosty

  1. Lord above, what trash!

  2. Rush L. is trash… the poem is cool.

  3. Poetry is about soul, which Rush Limbaugh has been treating with Oxycontin until he’s cured!

  4. Truman Capote, who knew Frost through his work at The New Yorker, said Frost was a mean nasty no-talent sonafabitch.

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