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.]