The Stolen Road

There is a place where the sidewalk ends

The same place where life begins

It is a crossroads

A bridge

A crosswalk

 

A leap into the unknown

 

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood

But our paths did not

Small trails of smaller rocks

Do you follow?

 

It will not change now

The road and what its made of

I will not change now

 

So many lives I have seen

And so many people I have been

 

Good poets borrow; great poets steal.

— T.S. Elliot

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