Two paths were laid before me there,
Both winding through the wood.
I stood, uncertain which to take—
Unsure which one I should.
One seemed worn by many feet,
A trail of easy grace.
The other curled through brambles thick,
A slower, wilder pace.
I chose the path less smooth, less clear,
A risk I couldn’t know.
And through the bends, the hills, the turns,
I learned, I grew, I’d go.
Now looking back, I sometimes see
The road I did not tread.
Would it have led me somewhere else,
Or was this path ahead?
But in the end, it’s not regret
That lingers in my chest—
The path I chose was mine to walk,
And maybe that’s the best.
September, 2024
