My Path

The Road Not Taken


Road Through Forest

Road Through Forest

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.

August 1, 1915: Robert Frost’s The Road Not Taken was first published in the Atlantic Monthly 100 years ago today. While the poem works as a metaphor for the weight we put on turning points in our lives, Frost later insisted the verses were simply inspired by a literal walk in the woods.

Some 40 years or so ago I memorized this poem by Robert Frost and it still blooms in my mind.  It spoke to me then, as I decided, as a young teenager, to always try to take the higher road–the path prompted by faith, rather than the expected.

After graduating from Reedley High School, I went away to school, then spent many years traveling all over the world, living in interesting places, gathering a variety of friends, trying to find my path, as directed by my Father in Heaven.  Seeking His will for me has taken me places I never would have chosen or discovered on my own.

I look back now, and remember this poem, committed to memory so long ago, and I marvel at where my path has taken me.  And it continues, now in Yakima Washington.  I am grateful for the inspiration these words instilled in a the heart of a young farm girl so many years ago!

About Ann Laemmlen Lewis

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1 Response to My Path

  1. Dixie Baker says:

    I love Robert Frost. He’s buried in the graveyard of the Old First Church in Bennington, VT. It’s a beautiful place in one of my favorite towns in America. I made a “Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening” appliqued pillow for my son when he was about 25, because he memorized the poem when he was 4. Thanks for jogging wonderful memories for me, Ann.

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