COUNSELOR (unidentifiable in snowstorm): Poetry Crisis Line, what is your emergency?
ROBERT FROST (presumably–also unidentifiable): Whose woods these are I think I know.
COUNSELOR: How can you tell?
FROST: His house is in the village, though.
COUNSELOR: Can you get your bearings?
FROST: He will not see me stopping here
COUNSELOR: I don’t think anyone will.
FROST: To watch his woods fill up with snow.
COUNSELOR: Uh…how?