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.
Copyright © 1962, 1967, 1970
by Leslie Frost Ballantine.
The Street Not Taken, by MsRefusenik (with apologies to R. Frost)
Two streets forked in a bad slum.
I didn't want to go down either one.
I stood there trying not to look too dumb.
As far as I could see all was scum.
If only I had carried a big gun.
I chose the one without the dead rat,
Too late, I saw it had all the crack dealers.
When they spoke to me I sure didn't chat.
Could the other have been where it was at?
Next time, I vowed, I'll first put out some feelers.
I had a choice and I chose Crack Lane.
No wonder I didn't see many people walking here.
If I ever make this trip again I'll take a plane.
Or maybe I could hire me an Andy Frain.
I won't come back because I feel too much fear.
I'll be home soon and here I come.
The guys in the bar will buy me a drink.
Two streets forked in a bad slum,
And I ran before I knew what from
It very nearly sent me over the brink
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