The Spot That'll be Your Grave

Whose grave this is I think I know.

His house was near the village mall;

He wouldn't have seen me stopping here

To watch his grave piling up with snow.

My little mind must think it queer

To stop with a grave so near

Between woods and a frozen lake

The darkest evening of the year.

I give my big head a shake

And wonder if there is a mistake.

That at one time or the other (it's deep)

You'd be looking at the spot that'll be your grave.

The woods aren't lovely, are dark, and deep,

But I think I still have promises to keep,

And miles to go before I sleep,

And miles to go before I sleep.