The Road Not Taken
Robert Frost, 1874 – 1963
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.
Has life ever presented a fork in the road to you? The paths appear to both right and wrong at the same time. There doesn’t seem to be any clear message which one to take… Why can’t there be a third option.. To create your own path. To trod down a new road that no one has thought of yet. However, even in that respect I still don’t know what that perfect way is. There always seems to be an option that lingers there for a moment in front of me..
Wisdom lieth wait in the night,
Waiting to be discovered.
All the noise and buzz of day,
That clouds its clarity,
Are silenced… Extinguished…
Driven away by the ticking clock,
The gentle hum of a refrigerator motor,
The creeks and groans of a settling home.
These sounds that only appear at night when everything else has quieted.
They keep wisdom company.
Wisdom that is patient, sound, strong, steadfast.
We reason and weigh our thoughts and emotions throughout the noise and drone of day.
And there she waits.
For us to quiet our minds. To wait. To breathe. To cry. To argue. Then finally to listen.
And she speaks. Not always in the clear voice we long for.
But she’s there speaking just the same.
And we heard her all along.
We knew her voice. It was familiar. And somewhat easy to ignore as all familiar things are.
Because with wisdom comes great responsibility.
We can’t say we didn’t know better, or we never knew at all.
She was there speaking all the time.
We just ignored her.
And now, when there is nothing to distract us from her cries… We listen.
With wisdom we can see clearly…
We may not understand but we can know.
And with that wisdom, there shall be peace…
Warning To Children
Children, if you dare to think
Of the greatness, rareness, muchness
Fewness of this precious only
Endless world in which you say
You live, you think of things like this:
Blocks of slate enclosing dappled
Red and green, enclosing tawny
Yellow nets, enclosing white
And black acres of dominoes,
Where a neat brown paper parcel
Tempts you to untie the string.
In the parcel a small island,
On the island a large tree,
On the tree a husky fruit.
Strip the husk and pare the rind off:
In the kernel you will see
Blocks of slate enclosed by dappled
Red and green, enclosed by tawny
Yellow nets, enclosed by white
And black acres of dominoes,
Where the same brown paper parcel –
Children, leave the string alone!
For who dares undo the parcel
Finds himself at once inside it,
On the island, in the fruit,
Blocks of slate about his head,
Finds himself enclosed by dappled
Green and red, enclosed by yellow
Tawny nets, enclosed by black
And white acres of dominoes,
With the same brown paper parcel
Still untied upon his knee.
And, if he then should dare to think
Of the fewness, muchness, rareness,
Greatness of this endless only
Precious world in which he says
he lives – he then unties the string.
This is one of my favorite poems to this day. I’m not even sure exactly what it is about it. Just the flow, the message, the visuals. But I’m glad it came to my mind today 🙂