~Final Autumn~

Final Autumn

BY ANNIE FINCH

Maple leaves turn black in the courtyard.

Light drives lower and one bluejay crams

our cold memories out past the sun,

each time your traces come past the shadows

and visit under my looking-glass fingers

that lift and block out the sun.

Come—I’ll trace you one final autumn,

and you can trace your last homecoming

into the snow or the sun.

~The Road Not Taken~

The Road Not Taken

BY ROBERT FROST

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.

Oh, I kept the first for another day!

Yet knowing how way leads on to way,

I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh

Somewhere ages and ages hence:

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—

I took the one less traveled by,

And that has made all the difference.