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.

To the woman that once carried me
and still carries on doing so.*

There is a stereotype
of superheroes wearing capes
but I reject that.
Mine wears regular clothing,
sometimes glasses,
and smells like home.

Your presence is all I need when
I feel like I'm crumbling.
Your embrace has a power
of bringing pieces I thought I lost
back together.

You have a power
to believe in me
when even I don't.
You are the hand I feel
squeezing strenght into
my thoughts
through my shoulder.
You are the voice in my head
that tells me to keep on going
when the road gets a little tough.
Your smile makes
everything so much better,
everyone so much happier.

You are wonderful
You are beautiful
You are magical
You are exquisite
You are brilliant
You are enchanting
You are marvelous
You are my mom
and
You are exactly
everything I want to be
when I grow up.