I asked for this little book for Christmas,
...and I received it.
My Boston grandmother read this poem with me several years before her death, and reading it again this Christmas reminds me of thin (slightly burnt) sugar cookies, a crackling fire in a little Prairie Village house, and her New England accent coming out strongly to broaden all of the "A's". She taught me to love poetry and inspired me to travel. From her, too, I inherited a passion for design that ultimately directed me to the career I have today. So, this Christmas, may you treasure the memories of loved ones, and rejoice in new memories to be made in bright and joyful New Year.
"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..."