By Martin H. Levinson

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry not sorry I could not walk on both
For fear of missing out, long I stood and
looked down one as far as someone who is woke could
To where it seemed kind of bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other as, you know, just as fair,
And maybe even having a slightly better claim,
Because it was grassy and because duh, it wanted wear;
Though, to stay in my lane, as for that the passing there
Had IMHO worn them about the same,

And both that morning nearly equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh yaaaas, I could walk on the other one some other day!
Yet knowing a little how way leads to way,
To be adulting, I’m not sure if I would ever come back.

Not to humble brag, but I shall be
telling this conceivably with a sigh
Maybe ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I sort of took the one less traveled by,

And that has made a bit of a difference.