"Whose woods these are I think I know,
His house is in the village, though,
He will not mind the stopping here,
To watch his woods fill up with snow.

My little horse must think it queer,
To stop without a farmhosue 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 frozen and wind and downy flake.

These 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."

-Robert Frost

Brony Code:
I will love and tolerate the SHIT out of you!