The first poem I really related to in a personal way in junior high English class was Robert Frost's "Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening." When I read

"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."

I knew exactly what the poet was saying, because I knew the powerful pull of the woods. I also knew that I couldn't go play there to play until I had done homework and chores. To my siblings, friends and me, the woods behind our house were like a magnet to which we were daily drawn. We spend countless hours there. We built tree houses and forts, hunted for arrowheads, and swung on grape vines. We played cowboys, knights, and Tarzan. We marveled at God's creation, and soaked up the beautiful scenes created b…