Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveller, 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
...Robert Frost
There are lots of different reasons why I post this poem -- 1. Lately I have been lost in translation at the census office 45 hours a week, 2. l'Amore Intimo is still my heartfelt dream and I haven't posted here as regularly as I once did because busy is an understatement of what I am these days, 3. I am also involved in a project with Prescott Frost (grandson of Robert Frost), and I am studying the works of his ancestor.That's what I have for now. Black Friday is in the making.
Dream Sweet
