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Advice

 I must do as you do? Your way I own
Is a very good way, and still,
There are sometimes two straight roads to a town,
One over, one under the hill.
You are treading the safe and the well-worn way, That the prudent choose each time; And you think me reckless and rash to-day Because I prefer to climb.
Your path is the right one, and so is mine.
We are not like peas in a pod, Compelled to lie in a certain line, Or else be scattered abroad.
'T were a dull old world, methinks, my friend, If we all just went one way; Yet our paths will meet no doubt at the end, Though they lead apart today.
You like the shade, and I like the sun; You like an even pace, I like to mix with the crowd and run, And then rest after the race.
I like danger, and storm, and strife, You like a peaceful time; I like the passion and surge of life, You like its gentle rhyme.
You like buttercups, dewy sweet, And crocuses, framed in snow; I like roses, born of the heat, And the red carnation's glow.
I must live my life, not yours, my friend, For so it was written down; We must follow our given paths to the end, But I trust we shall meet--in town.

by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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