Robert Frost Had it Wrong
Two path diverged in a yellow wood
and sorry that I saw just two.
One path more traveled
one much less so
but still, only two.
One foot in front of the other
tramping brush and fern underfoot
soul and soles gliding over
roots and trickles of water, puddles
of dewy tears from the trees'
leaves, eaves overhead.
With no idea of where I was going,
which is an advantage of making
your own trail through the woods,
I tried in vain to remember all
the twists and turns my legs took
with a power all their own.
Traveling with no destination in mind,
going where no other had been,
made the sights all the more gorgeous.
Such a shame that travelers before me
seemed to think that only
Two path diverged in a yellow wood.