Poetry 5

The Road Not Taken

Robert Frost

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.

Poetry 4

SAID A BLADE OF GRASS

Kahlil Gibran

Said a blade of grass to an autumn leaf, “You make

such a noise falling! You scatter all my winter dreams.”

Said the leaf indignant, “Low-born and low-dwelling!

Songless, peevish thing! You live not in the upper air

and you cannot tell the sound of singing.”

Then the autumn leaf lay down upon the earth

and slept. And when spring came she waked again — and

she was a blade of grass.

And when it was autumn and her winter sleep

was upon her, and above her through all the air the leaves

were falling, she muttered to herself, “O these autumn

leaves! They make such noise! They scatter all my

winter dreams.”

courtesy: markcassino.com

A simple reminder that nothing undoes dignity like peevish indignation. Courtesy: brainpickings