As ‘two roads diverged in a yellow wood’,
I trifled with the wisdom of generations.
The morning sun played with my senses
as the intoxication that is spring cast its spell,
All the while the pied piper’s tune filled my ears.
Two roads ‘both that morning equally lay’,
except that one appeared to be less arduous
in its terrain, and likewise the more used.
But as I quickly surveyed the circuitous paths
any of its revelations were outside my fledgling view.
And I, not yet knowing ‘how way leads on to way’,
nor able to detach from myself from the limits
overlaid by inexperience, was forced
that day to decide on the courses before me set -
And for the rest of my days
unravel the meaning of that choice.
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