STOPPING BY WOODS                           THIRD LEVEL TWELFTH GRADE
ON A SNOWY EVENING                          ON A FROSTY MORNING
by Robert Frost                                        by Laura Schoffman

Whose woods these are I think I know        This twelfth grade class how well I know.
His house is in the village though;               I've taught them now for years. Although
He will not see me stopping here                Each item's drilled two times or three,
To watch his woods fill up with snow.          Their competence just doesn't grow.

My little horse must think it queer               I've done my best. I've tried, you see,
To stop without a farmhouse near               Each path in methodology
Between the woods and frozen lake            An English teacher's urged to take,
The darkest evening of the year.                 Divergent though those paths may be.

He gives his harness bells a shake             No more do I at errors quake,
To ask if there is some mistake.                 No longer jump at each mistake,
The only other sound's the sweep               No longer weep for wasted years,
Of easy wind and downy flake.                   But wait the bell that brings the break.

The woods are lovely, dark and deep.          For there's an end to trials and tears.
But I have promises to keep,                      The least adept, when summer nears,
And miles to go before I sleep,                   Speaks English to the volunteers.
And miles to go before I sleep.                   Speaks English to the volunteers.