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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.
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My Thoughts
I analyse the loved rhyme, and it illustrates the quandary of choosing between free will and fate: we are
free to embark on a vagabond voyage, but we might not really know beforehand what we are choosing.
The route ahead is determined by dovetailed choice and chance, and it is not possible to separate the two.
Let's bridle our horses, with no saddles on, and navigate into darkest overgrowth, harshest cold badlands,
heedless of mandated ethos.
At length, behind adulthood's vantage point, will we look down with regret on the herd's journey we avoided,
or thank the hardships and roadblocks of stalwartly shunning tradition for a worthy path?
As baseball great Yogi Berra stated, "When you come to a fork in the road, take it!"
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