525. Startings

The paths diverged in four:
a leftward to known shores,
a coastal walk of yesterday
your feet well marked before;

A rightward to some distance
unmarked, just rounding river,
and we could but only guess
how salt and fresh life differs;

And two to go, two forwards,
one smoother course well-paved,
where thousands have maintained
from birth unto their graves;

The last, a road up mountain,
at once supreme and solemn,
for few who see from height
return as we once knew them;

And so in dawn light’s blessing,
the pilgrims, paupers, princes, walked.

“Oh, if life were made of moments, Even now and then a bad one // But if life were only moments, Then you’d never know you had one.”
T: 33


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