The Road Not Taken
Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveller, 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 on to way,
I counted 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 road less travelled by,
And that has made all the difference.
I have loved Robert Frost’s poetry since I was first introduced to it at 14 in Massachusetts of all places. It speaks to me, as in this poem.
Dear Ole Dad was a drunk. And so was, and so am I. However he continued down his road to the bitter end, and I — I took the road less travelled, and that has made all the difference.
For years I was very bitter and angry toward him. Couldn’t hardly talk about him in early sobriety. Then as the years passed, and my head cleared, I began to feel more and more gratitude toward him – for he showed me, in his life, where I was heading with my drinking. So I chose ‘the road not taken’ – and that has made all the difference…