Stopping By Woods on a Snowy Evening

A cold winter evening, an empty road. As the mist descends and evening turns to night, I took the longest walk back home from the metro station.Passing by the dark lanes and the broken down huts, past the damp field, under the big tree and dark houses. A pat for the shivering dog as the rare passerby walks past at lightning pace, covered from head to toe, I trudged along at the slowest possible pace and all there was to it, was an overbearing sense of melancholy. An old joke, it has lost its meaning; A new one, has lost its cause. Is there always a light at the end of the tunnel?

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.

-Robert Frost