Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Night

Who owns this wood I think I know.
His location is in town, though.
Nobody will watch through dim light
As I watch woods fill up with snow.

My pony must think it’s not right
To stop without a barn in sight
Away from warmth and joy and song
This particularly short night.

His bit plays out a soft “ding-dong”
Asking if what I did was wrong.
Not much sound sounds within this wood
But wind and snowfall, its fall long.

I know that visiting is good
But turn around, knowing I should.
I will do what I said I would.
I will do what I said I would.

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