A Paraphrasement

Stopping by the Woods on a Snowy Evening
A poem by Robert Frost

As I traveled through the woods one dark and snowy evening, I came to realize that they belonged to someone else. Thinking back on it now, I do recall a man who lives in the village that has laid claim to these woods as his own. Hence I am trespassing on private property. He won’t know about it, however, as his house is somewhere in the village; and that is far away from where I am. So he wouldn’t mind (or know) if I stayed a while to watch the woods fill up with snow.

My horse on the other hand is not at peace with my decision. How odd he must think, if horses really do think, it must be for us to have stopped in such an isolated place. There is nothing all around us. No house. No barn. No sign of human civilization other than me and the cart he is pulling on his back. We stand with the forest on one side and the lake on the other; the later being completely frozen over due to the plummet in temperature. It is now the darkest night of the year and dawn is still very far away.

Shaking the bells along his neck, my horse seeks to grab my attention. Had he a voice he might ask, “Why are we stopping here? Are we lost?” For obviously there must be some mistake. The jingling of the bells is a pleasing sound and it is only after my horse stops shaking his powerful neck does the woods revert back into silence. Well, not complete silence, for the forest is never truly without noise. I hear the sweeping sound of the frigid air as it swoops down from the heavens and the soft patter of snowflakes as they fall on my shoulders, neck and head.

Sighing, I take one last look at the splendor around me. These woods are beautiful at night. They are endless, stretching as far as the eye could see and beyond. Their darkness is soothing, almost lulling me to sleep and I wonder should I wander into them how deep do they go and what would I find? But I push these thoughts aside because I have obligations to attend to. My horse is right in pulling me out of my reverie for there is much too much for me at home to even think about loitering. I urge my horse onward and we are gone. It’s still a very long way home but I must keep my promises. There are so many promises I must keep before I can rest.

The Poop

The Potion

The fatal hand had grappled with the mystery of life, and was the bond by which an angelic spirit kept itself in union with a mortal frame. As the last crimson tint of the birthmark -- that sole token of human imperfection -- faded from her cheek, Georgiana began to loose consciousness and then her eyes shot open. She looked into her husband’s eyes as he gazed miraculously at his achievement. The birthmark was gone, and suddenly perfection had been reached. His wife, who was once beautiful, now is the most amazing being on earth. The potion had worked. Aminadab, covered her eyes in disbelief. The sight was too much for her. It was as if her beauty was blinding.
Georgiana stood up, went to see her reflection and let out a shout. She could not believe it, but suddenly every slight imperfection, every wrinkle, every uneven line and color began to fade and her beauty was refined. She became a goddess. Aylmer stood there and could not believe it. His potion is working beyond its measures. They looked at each other and realized they have jut created the most powerful potion in the world.
The townsmen and women began to talk. They noticed that each day that they got older Georgiana stayed young, and Aylmer’s wrinkles began to straighten out. And soon, Aminadab’s back began to elevate and her hair was suddenly long and beautiful. She beautified and evolved into a woman, no one could even recognize her. They thought she had died, and a new woman became Aylmer’s help.
“We have noticed changes. Many changes. Tell us Sir Aylmer what is it, it that is occurring under your roof.” Aylmer laughed hysterically and evilly. The pride began to fill his heart with ecstasy and power. “What it is, that is occurring under my roof you could not believe nor afford. If you want to know, then you must pay for the knowledge. And if you want it to happen to you, you must pay some more.” The townspeople stood by his door and begged. “We will give you our cattle, and our sheep just tell us what it is. What miracles you are stirring in your laboratory.” Aylmer disclosed his information, and the town went wild. They began to compile their riches, their life earnings and trading it in to buy vials of the potion.
Lady Eanrshaw, who was blind and missing teeth and 12 moles, began to look like she was seventeen again. Goodman Christianson’s skin, which was black from the years digging for coal and balding head from old-age, had revitalized itself and he too looked younger and more refined. Everyone in the town became beautiful and young again. The women were flaunting their new found beauties and the men felt younger and more vibrant and socialized more than often. They had sold everything they own, and perhaps they did not have any goods but they had their beauty, and it made them so much happier.
Aylmer and Georgiana became the rules of their town, and when the news spread out of town to the villages nearby, the demand became so high and the price much larger there was years of waiting for people to be able to acquire the position. This new found miracle, however, soon was found to be a curse.
Georgiana woke up one morning and felt ill, by the afternoon she fell to the ground and her soul departed. People all over the town began to pass. Aylmer died. Aminadab’s soul has shriveled as well. After two years of striking beauty, the entire town had disintegrated. No one had lived. The dying need to be beautiful had killed three villages over one week.

*Story inspired by Hawthorne's "the Birthmark"