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; | |
|
Then took the other, as just as fair, | |
And having perhaps the better claim, | |
Because it was grassy and wanted wear; | |
Though as for that the passing there | |
Had worn them really about the same, | |
|
And both that morning equally lay | |
In leaves no step had trodden black. | |
Oh, I kept the first for another day! | |
Yet knowing how way leads on to way, | |
I doubted if I should ever come back. | |
|
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. |
3 comments:
Love this poem; so does Brent, or he did once at least. Gorgeous shot!
Thanks, Lynn. My favorite Robert Frost poem is' "Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening". Tell Brent I said hey.
Wonderful!
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