Robert Frost Was No Help To Me

ROBERT FROST WAS NO HELP TO ME Three roads diverged in a yellow wood And sorry I could not travel all three And be one traveler, long I stood And gazed down each; but take none I could, For in this trilemma, there was no Frost poem to guide me. By taking one I was missing a double. Oh why did he not write a helping hint for me? Maybe I’m stirring up a lot of trouble, Just inflating a big hot-air bubble, But those other two could have set me free. By taking none, the immobilization of me And my dithering reconnoitering, Especially in a dark wood where no one can see, Brought in the police and judiciary: And I was locked up for suspicious loitering. I shall be telling this with immense frustration Sometime hence no matter what I’m doin’. The three roads led to utter consternation And ultimately to penitentiary isolation - And that has been my ruin. Entered in Frank Herrera's Contest The CrossRoads of your Life