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.

I remember the temple, this route I’ve travelled before,I recall the bridge as I cross it again.It seems the hills and rivers have been waiting,The flowers and willows all are selfless now.

The field is sleek, and vivid, thin mist shines,On soft sand, the sunlight’s colour shows it’s late.All the traveler’s sorrow fades away,What better place to rest than this?

We wanderers, ever seeking the lonelier way,begin no day where we have endedanother day; and no sunrise finds us wheresunset left us.Even while the earth sleeps we travel.

We are the seeds of the tenacious plant,and it is in our ripeness and our fullness ofheart that we are given to the wind and arescattered.