My road forked as they sometimes do
and, being in a mellow mood,
I paused to contemplate the two
and ponder which should be pursued;
though neither seemed in disrepair
or fallen into desuetude.
In truth, they both seemed to be fair,
though one might be a little green,
with comparable traffic there
as far along as could be seen
peering along each to its bend;
each choice appeared equally keen.
I wished I had a spy to send
along each path, with knowing eyes
to find what lay out at each end.
Then I began to realize
I’d seen one of these roads before
on posters of various size,
on billboards, internet, and more;
the path I’d nearly picked that day
changed as soon as I knew the score.
Yet someday, in an age away
in hopes I won’t be misconstrued,
I will relate my tale this way:
“Two roads forked in a mellow mood.
I took the one less advertised;
and that’s how my choice should be viewed.”
(By now, my source you’ve realized.)
– – – – – – – –
This Terza Rima is, of course, based on The Road Not Taken by Robert Frost. Last week, when I looked up Frost’s original poem, I found out something no teacher ever taught me. Frost originally wrote the poem as a joke aimed at his friend and fellow poet Edward Thomas. He was jesting at Thomas’s chronic indecision as to which path to take when the two of them were out walking. Thomas always ended up wishing he had taken the other road.