Kirstie

Dream Flowers By Margaret Pedler

Beyond the hill there's a garden, Fashioned of sweetest flowers, Calling to you with its voice of gold, Telling you all that your heart may hold. Beyond the hill there's a garden fair-- My garden of happy hours.

Dream Flowers grow in that garden, Blossom of sun and showers, There, withered hopes may bloom anew, Dreams long forgotten shall come true. Beyond the hill there's a garden fair-- My garden of happy hours.

[|Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening] By Robert Frost

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 filll up with snow.

My little horse must think it queer To stop without a farmhouse near Between the woods and frozen lake The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake To ask if there is some mistake. The only other sounds the sweep Of easy wind and downy flake.

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.