26/05/2026
The Road
Two paths ran on through a yellow wood,
And I, with time enough to stand,
Looked not for which was less well trod,
But which would bear a steady hand.
Both lay before me, near the same,
Worn down by feet that came and went,
No sign declared a truer claim,
No whisper marked a firm intent.
So I stepped on, not to declare
A difference others might applaud,
But simply because it held me there,
And seemed to answer to my tread.
And as I walked, it altered slightly
Edges settled, stones made known,
What was muddled clarified quietly,
What was needless left alone.
I did not name it mine to keep,
Nor say it differed by design,
Only that walking is not sleep
And what we use, we re-align.
And if I speak of it at all,
It will not be with sigh or claim,
But that the path, once walked with care,
Did not remain quite as it came.
