A Response to Robert Frost’s “The Road Not Taken” (Corey Selman)

Walking on a trail in mid-fall,
 enjoying the smell of burning wood.
Gazing at the tye-dye display of the trees,
I arrived at a fork and stood.
The one to my left was covered in boot prints and four wheeler tracks.
The leaves were even raked into sacks.
The one to my right was no better to my dismay.
It was broad, well trampled, and laid with red clay.
It had once been the path less traveled,
though now that view had unraveled.
Everyone had done their best
but conformed to originality like the rest.
Unhitching my pack,
I laid it on the ground and unzipped the bag.
Reaching in, I grabbed my machete.
Facing the woods I knew I was ready.
The feeling of adventure mild,
only then did I truly walk into the wild.


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