Poetry

This past week we read some poetry, including one of my favorites, Stopping by the Woods on a Snowy Evening by Robert Frost. I read the poem, the kids illustrated what they saw (in their minds) while I read.



My question is, how do such smart kids end up drawing apple trees, complete with apples, when listening to:


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.


He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound's the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.


The 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.


Then I remembered, besides being 90 plus degrees outside, they had been picking pears the evening before!


Maybe we will give this another shot in January!! For now we will stick to "that dirty little coward, that shot Mr. Howard. And laid poor Jesse in his grave."


I'll be back to post about the coming week.


Until then,
Cheryl