The Road(s) Taken

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.

If anyone wants to see the stanzas corrected, go to

Does anyone know how to get html to make double line breaks so I can create five line stanzas of this poem? Double paragraph symbols doesn’t work.

This, perhaps most quoted of Frost poems, seems most descriptive of the method we have found most productive, joyous and adventurous for our leaf color searching. Besides, we’re in Frost country, though I’d imagine it’s changed a bit, but his muse might as well be our muse while wandering Vermont.

Our method: We take any dirt or gravel road that promises color and views, and avoids the hordes of leaf peepers along the red highways where the color is far away, pale and dissappointing. Our new (one year old soon) Winnebego View motorhome, is skinny enough, and short enough, to go places few dare tread; even the scant cars we meet, and skinny up to pass, are slack-jawed at our audacity. But, we know our Turtle and where he can go and, usually, where he cannot.

We also often sus-out a place to park near the high point, and best color, of a Green Mountain crossing, and thus are at the best place to utilize the warm colors of morning and evening; even one rainy morning, and one foggy, proved lovely in a way that could not be had by the time most people were having their first coffee. We begin our quest after one early cuppa and stop for breakfast later, since the milk is always in the refrigerator with us anyway, and the stove always at the ready to produce cuppa number two.

This motorhome is much better built than our first, and takes the shaking of dirt roads very well; all the cabinets are still tight and nothing rattles except our accumulated stuff.

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