Erode... Naught Taken I have walked two roads as I’ve scribbled verse;
they converge as one in yon yellowed wood.
If I’d chosen the other, would I be the worse?
Have I looked down the one as far as I could?
I’d spent precious time in the undergrowth
of the wanderlust path, and I got nowhere,
so I reasoned I’d rhyme, taking something of both
to discover perchance what each sought to share.
Some traveler friends bid farewell as I strode,
but cautiously, marching a shadowy path
to somewhere or other past empty abodes —
encountered cold shoulders… occasional wrath.
passers-by poked fun
throughout a fallen winter;
still life sprang anew
two trails
diverged from woods
in pungent yellow streams;
so I set a new course through trees
relieved
© MLee Dickens’son 09 Feb 2006
a musing from Robert Frost's
The Road Not Taken