This was one of the first poems I read when I was a kid. When I first read this, the context was that of a nine-year-old kid, whose burdens included among others which I do not want to delve into at this point, the usual scratches and knee scrapes, adolescence, puberty, that really awkward phase. Well, in this day and age, we all still have to deal with the aches and pains of growing up, albeit on an entirely new and infinitely more mundane level, the road not take takes on an entirely new meaning. At this point, risks aren’t very easy to take, and like all butterflies-in-the-stomach-inducing and anvil-on-my-head-ish things, they come along quite a bit. Personally, I’m not a big fan of risk-taking when it comes to the big things. I set a path for myself when I was nine, and I haven’t veered too far from it since. I like being secure when it comes to the things that matter. I live vicariously through the little spontaneous things I do, which don’t really figure much in the grand scheme of things. So, well, enjoy… The rest of our lives is yet to come. The Road Not Taken | | |
| 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, 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 marked 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.
Robert Frost | |
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