The Road With Different Endings
Who can walk the road I've traveled
though not yet so far,
but me?
Who can compare what all I've seen
to piece together the reflections in me,
but in the looking glass,
we contrast,
when only I have.
Who can say they've done the same
when the task is but one to another game-
and this I've lost,
and this I've gained.
No two could recognize the same
When they have not.
And who can share the well
from which my emotions flow,
though as yet reasons are discreet
unless I tell them where to go?
So when we at a crossroads meet
so do the paths proceeding-
wind and blind,
how you perceive
the light at the end of the road I keep.
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