The Road less travelled

Two roads diverged in a golden wood

My map told riddles so long I stood

And looked down each as best I could

To where it bent in the undergrowth

And sorry I could not travel both

Might I chance the path that was not fair

Overgrown with grass, wanting wear

It seemed to yearn for passing there

It had not worn out near the same, 

And yet for me, it called the better claim

A voice turbulent in my head

Brimmed my mind with tales of dread

Delayed I pitched my tent and bed

I did not think or dream instead I slept

And the choice till morning kept

Both paths next morning equally lay

He who runs can fight another day

And knowing only one true way,

I doubted and considered going back. 

Leave the leaves no step had trodden black.

I tell this tale as days pass by

When two roads diverge in a wood, then I –

I take the one less travelled by,

And somewhere ages and ages hence

You can decide if it makes a difference.

The road not taken by Robert Frost