In the middle of the woods There’s a place of quiet peace, Where shadows stretch and deepen, And life seems but a soft release.

The pines sway gently overhead, As whispers float upon the breeze; And though our paths may take us far, This woodland cradle holds such ease.

Here time seems nothing—it stands still, The heartbeat slows, the mind sets free; To wander here is to reside In nature’s grand simplicity.

Though seasons change and days grow long, The spirit yearns to return near To those tranquil woods where branches sing Of solace, love, and ancient cheer.

• Robert Frost