The Traveler

I Two paths diverged, Or so they say In a land to the east, Far, far, away. Where children they laugh, They dance and they shout To welcome the traveler, That has been about. His boots are worn, And his clothes are done And on his left hip, He carries a gun. But what of the man, What does he say? Do we know his pretenses, Know of any his ways? But no! We do not, How should one ask? A worrisome thing. Would now come to pass. He is dirty and cold, Broken alone And the rain has chilled him, Right to the bone. He is more than a man, For a man has a home And the burden of hate, For sin he hath grown. Nay, his burden is simpler, Perhaps with a voice, For all he must do, Is make a choice. II I spake at last , And asked his best, To tell me perhaps, How he came in this mess. He turned to me then, With furrowing brows, A dull in his eyes And a cumbersome frown It was right then and there, That I learned of his plans, Of the choice in the roads At the cross of the land. “Four roads twist before me, He said, “four awry. And all them I knew They’d carry me by. One broken, dishearted, Which led to my love, And another, in itself, To the God that’s above. The third was golden, As some roads, they are And led to a city With riches afar. And the last, well the last, Well that one you know That one led here And it too I know.” III I looked at him then At his soft weathered eyes And wondered what evil Had taken him by No sin that I knew Could make a man so And I couldn’t help ask him How he was so. “What is it my friend? Let of off your load. Is it such a bad thing That you chose’ the wrong road? He sat himself down And began with a frown That to which Was followed by a sound. A sound that would form, Form into words, Words of great meaning, That could not be curved. “I know now.” He said. “That which prize I have won. I have to be going Before it is done.” “But what do you mean? What do you say? Are you leaving my friend? Gone on your way?” “What I have wrought, I justly deserve. My choices they make me. And my sentence is served.” “But which road will you choose? Where will you go? Is it God that you seek? Or maybe rich gold. Or better yet, Could it be your love. Your hearts great desire, Sent from above.” He turned to me quickly, As he walked out the door. He whispered gravely. “My friend, Your choices are yours.”