The Road Not Taken (After Robert Frost)

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood;

Being alone, I had to choose.

No one else could, so long I stood

Looking as far as my eyes would,

Knowing either way, I’d lose.

I took the first path that I had found

As it seemed to be the more scenic route

Because the trees bent down to hug the ground

And the path seemed to curve around,

Though I was still filled with doubt

As the other path seemed slightly better

And had no footsteps to paint it black,

But it looked drearier and a little wetter

Like coffee stains smearing a letter,

So I confirmed my decision to not go back.

I should be telling this with a sigh

As both paths ended at the same lake:

Two roads diverged in a wood and I—

I took the one less traveled by,

But what difference did it make?