Stopping by the Woods by Way of Persia
I do not know if I'm a tree.
Even if I was in the village, I went up.
There will be no delay here:
look in the snow-covered forest—
I think Queer is a little horse.
Stop without a home and close
Between the forests and frozen lakes.
Night of perfect dark years.
Protect your weapon from the alarm.
Ask: Is it wrong?
Loneliness passed.
Raise the wind and flour.
Beautiful and deep forests
I promised. . .
Leaks up to bedtime.
Leaks up to bedtime.
[With apologies to Robert Frost and help from several rounds of Google Translate.]