No apologies to Robert Frost
Two roads converged
in the tulip fields,
and I,
remembering it had been years
since I’d last passed
this way,
as a younger,
less curious man;
recognizing I would probably
never pass
this singular way
again;
wondering,
with age,
curious,
yet certain in knowing
how each road would lead
to a different view,
to different light,
to different experience,
to different understanding;
as an older man,
standing on the brink
of my eternities,
now took enough time
to broaden my vistas
as wide as I could.
Two roads converged
in the tulip fields.
I breathed deeply,
faced the setting sun,
cancelled other appointments,
and took them both.
And that will make
all the difference.
Cyrano Writer: Musings of a Revolutionary Romantic Poet 
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