Two Roads Diverge In Yellow Wood
A place that feels quite like home,
With old and young,
Fashioned and new,
With poets quite like lovers,
Friends that are like brothers,
Sisters and den mothers,
The experianced and lecturing,
Who feel that they are fathers,
Theres the lost who are seeking,
And the Found who are singing,
Praying and speaking,
Crying and laughing,
Warmth of the Hearth we all sit around,
And sip on the soup of life that we've found,
It's a magical cure,
That make the old feel new,
And help the young to relate,
To those who are true,
No other place feels quite like home,
I bet this was the place,
Robert Frost was seeking down his road.
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