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.
I have always loved Robert Frost poetry, so full of nature references and as a middle school student, he was one of the few poets we read that I actually could understand and identify with. I started reading his work after reading the ubiquitous “The Outsiders” with his poem Nothing Gold Can Stay. Like any good dreamy 12 year old girl, I had it memorized, and still think of his words as seasons change. But living in a tropical place when seasonal changes are much more subtle, I’ve had my moments of truly missing those definitive changes that come with passing months. Sometimes I think my brain and energies need a break of the warm, sunny, breezy mild climate and I need autumn, winter and the downpours of spring to bring balance. But then I realize we have taken a path less traveled. Our family serves, we grow, we go where we are needed. Should we have the privilege of remaining here for many more years I know it is because we have never taken the easier path, but always, by our choice or fate’s, been sent along the rocky ridge with no footpath in sight.
I must remind myself of these things as I grow weary of the path.