I like to read poets. Not only poems but also the human mind who pens them.
What drives this poet? His mind or his spirit?
I don’t need to be driven by the same. I can choose to be different.
That’s why I enjoy reading some poets.
Here’s one. Read the poet.
Read your own perspective too. How would you present yourself in a poem? At an interval of your own journey.
Robert Frost (1874–1963). Mountain Interval. 1920.
The Road Not Taken
TWO roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, 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 that 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 doubted 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 one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.