Standing by Rocks on a Sunny AfternoonWhose rocks these are I think I know.Their number is a mystery though;And thus you see me stopping hereTo count a trillion plus, or so.Others must think it very queerTo embark upon a task so drearDoing this until I quakeOr for at least another year.You give your head a puzzled shakeAnd ask if there is some mistake.My tasks are often quite a leapBut this one really takes the cake.The ground is rich with rocks so deep.I’ll count and throw them on a heap,With piles to go while I’m asleep,With piles to go while I’m asleep.(With apologies to Robert Frost.)

Stopping by Woods on a Snowy EveningWhose woods these are I think I know.His house is in the village though;He will not see me stopping hereTo watch his woods fill up with snow.My little horse must think it queerTo stop without a farmhouse nearBetween the woods and frozen lakeThe darkest evening of the year.He gives his harness bells a shakeTo ask if there is some mistake.The only other sound’s the sweepOf easy wind and downy flake.The woods are lovely, dark and deepBut I have promises to keep,And miles to go before I sleep,And miles to go before I sleep.— Robert Frost (1922)Click here: Wikipedia