A great poet once wrote of yellow wood,
and a path that split between the trees.
He stood and pondered as long he could,
to take which path he thought he should;
To take the path he thought would please.
Both paths to him had looked the same;
yet he chose the one that had less wear,
and said it made him who he became.
I wanted to follow without shame.
behind the poet who once stood there.
I have come upon this forked road,
and still I'm stopped where he had too,
but I feel as though a heavy load,
has kept me dragging, kept me slowed.
Now I am lost as to what to do.
So Mr. Frost, I ask you now:
At this point if you were feeling low,
if you were feeling weighted down,
how would you keep your mind sound?
Down which path would you then go?
©2012 Alexader J. Hicks
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