Stopping by the Streets on a Snowy Evening

Whose streets these are I think I know.
The brave commuters of Chicago-o;
They wonder why I’m standing here
To watch the streets fill up with snow.

The hurried folk must think it queer
To stop without a shelter here
Between the Loop and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.

The give my lazy butt a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound’s the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.

The Streets 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.


With apologies to Robert Frost.