The Road Taken
Two roads converged at a hidden brook,
And glad I no longer had to choose
I turned around for a final look,
Quickly forgetting how long it took
To come so far, and removed my shoes;
Then waded in with a careful glide
On slippery stones and spongy moss,
And thought I saw on the other side
Where maybe the sand had felt the stride
Of someone else who had gone across.
Yet though I tried I could not discern
A sign of even the faintest trail,
And surely I came too late to learn
If the broken twig and trampled fern
Were from living man or dying quail.
I shall be telling this with a smile,
There in the sun as it warms our feet:
Two roads converged at a brook, and I'll
Remember the way we crossed in style;
No road not taken could be as sweet.
© 2002 Lewis Bruser
Born in 1929 in Saskatoon, Saskatchewan, Canada, Lewis Bruser grew up in the town of Macklin, Saskatchewan. He is a retired electrical engineer, is married, has three children and five grandchildren, and lives across Puget Sound from Seattle, Washington, USA. His poetry and fiction were featured in the October 2001 issue.
About "The Road Taken," Lewis writes "My wife and I disagree on the extent to which I finally grew up, but to the extent that I did, it began when we met, progressing rather slowly, and is now culminating in a senior slow-pitch soft ball, the ideal game for failed baseball players. [My poem] sounds at first like a parody of Robert Frost's 'The Road Not taken.' Instead of being about two roads that diverge, it's about two roads that convergemy road from Saskatchewan and hers from Germany. The roads meet at a brook, which of course had been hidden from us all our life. Across the brook lies our future together, which seems unclear. We go across barefoot, to the sunshine which warms our cold feet."
photo © Robert Balcomb