There it stands, waiting, the road not taken.Like all other roads that I have walked on,
But only less defined, more mysterious.
Like Frost, I had once not made up my mind,
For I was young and there were such choices.
I know now, the road must choose us as well.
Often on days when things do not work outI look back at past cross-roads wondering
What if I had taken that other road?
And when I am tired of my charted routes
I recall this old road that perhaps leads
To the purple mountains, the bluest sea.
The loves we love most have really no shapesExcept what we conjure up in our minds:
They are lovely because we will it so.
Amidst all of life’s great disappointments
We cling to old roads that were not taken:
For there must be that one untraveled road.
Always beyond our reach but recalled well,Mysterious, promising, and so perfect.