The shorty• Show poetry

I've decided to take the poems I have here, pack up (figuratively), and be on my way. I'll still be on storywrite from time to time, so if you want to look me up, go ahead.
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The Road Not Taken

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 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 onto way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads divereged in a yellow wood, and I-
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.
-- Robert Frost
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