The road taken on a New Year’s day. A reimagining of Robert Frost’s The Road Not Taken.
The road taken down a mossy path on the first New Year’s Day.
Where two birds converged in a browny wood with a sigh.
Long I stood at the undergrowth.
The path was bent and gravely but it had the better claim.
Both were equal that morning but one was less traveled.
The other was fair and without leaves trodden bare.
Though the way leads to passing by and by.
Somewhere traveling ages hence, the one traveled made all the sense.
I regret there was only one road to travel.
But, one road was taken that morning and I kept the other for another day.
Melodie Dawn Miller 
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