The Road Taken

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I,
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.

The Road Not Taken
Robert Frost, 1916



Once I was small,
I longed for the skies.
It was bad; you couldn’t touch the moon,
until my poppa lifted me on his shoulders,
the moon...it was closer now.


“Grow up tall, grow up fast,”
poppa said.
I yearned, to grow up...
...to grow up, be like my poppa.


Was interest that propped me to school.
I asked my miss,
“Why is A for Apple?”
The cane rap on my knucklebone couldn’t cameth faster.
I didn’t know that she didn’t know,
maybe she didn’t know that I did want to know.


It was then I saw the fork,
in front of me they diverged.
One path was weeded,
rhododendrons blocked my horizon thence.
Maybe I never bothered to sift through
the floral undergrowth.
The cleaner path was the one the multitude took,
aaahh the horizon...was so easily visible.


I took the path the bourgeois took.
The road not taken...
...remained the road not taken.


Emerged out to the outside world,
In “flying colours” they said.
“Wish you luck,” they said,
“Got a great life ahead,” they said.
Only I did know, that I didn’t want this life.
The me in me died,
as with the answer...to my kindergarten question.


Into a job meandered my life,
all I cared for was the coffers status.
The hackneyed my boss was,
the coffers touched the skies,
never did I attempt to.


I took the path the bourgeois took.
The road not taken...
...remained the road not taken.


I still aim for the skies...
It’s just that now I simulate my sky,
Just below the ceiling of my home...
I take the path the bourgeois take.
The road not taken...
...still remains the road not taken.
And that....has made all the difference.