Schmaltz!

With the most abject apologies to Robert Frost.

Whose effect this is I think I know.
My heart is in his trash can though;
He will not see me stopping here
To feel my heart fill up with snow.
My subconscious must think it queer
To stop without reconciliation near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.
He gives his IM buzz a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound's the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.
Memories 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.