Some thoughts on the Road Less Traveled, and what might lie at it's end. Writer's Cramp. |
No One Takes It Once So there I was in a yellow wood, A couple of years, or a month ago, Hearing from a strange but happy man About things I had not seen. Roads where leaves still snapped underfoot, With the occasional glimpse of deer. Gentle, flowing willow strands- Under a calm and guiding moon. I chose then to take that road. Then, many did the same. Choices led to consequence; To more choices, once again. At every fork, our numbers fell. In every river, lovers drowned. Some I watched, walked too soon, And only rose to come back down. Companions left, or slipped away- With each and every passing turn. Until, trudging just habitually, I reached a fork alone. Two roads once more before me- I turned around and smiled. Basking, ignorant, Instead of moving on. A week ago, or this morning, I took that road again; Heard familiar crunching, Thought I would finally see the end. Though when I reached the clearing, There was just another wood. More paths stood open, beckoning, I took the one I felt I should. Two roads diverged in a wood, and I... Will tell you, if I ever reach the end. |