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.

I love this poem.  Not because at first it seems to encourage adventure, or because it’s actually a bit of a mind-twister, or even because it has that rhythm that lulls you into never-never land.

I love this poem because it brings you into the beauty in the moment of the decision.  A yellow wood undisturbed in the morning.  The soft crunch of leaves in the still cool autumn air.  A lone traveler, a long pause, and a decision.  Someday the traveler will look back and come to his own conclusion about the outcome of his decision.  But for now, there is only the beauty of the moment and the endless possibilities that lay in wait as the sun burns off the morning dew. A single moment, held still for all time.  Two roads, and one that will make all the difference.