The Road Not Taken

 

There is a way for a person to not go to himself.
If you choose to live, you may think that you have made such a choice, but in the end, what can not be done is life.
A long time ago there was another way I could choose, and I wondered what would have happened if I walked that path.
One day, I took a picture and found the road between the forests.
I walked the road.

I think Robert Frost's poem "The road not taken" suddenly.

 

The Road Not Taken
By Robert Frost 

 

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.