I often sit and dream, think of the roads taken and not.Not a great poet, I, nor a philosopher wise
Just a weary traveler who looks back
Sees the road behind
The choices made, the road less
And more traveled.
Then I wonder, I drift in possibilities
Of what could have been
Should have been, might have been.
If we could go back,
You and I, retrace our path,Walk backward in our footprints
And stand at that place
Where roads divide...
Would we stop and consider well
Our paths, think on these things
Or run recklessly toward the roads
We know, we are secure in?
