Two roads in a yellow wood, I stood,
could have looked for one. I know of one–
please turn down the bush
where a long branch of one person
is just as fair–
It probably has a better claim,
the grass is worn with other.
But to do so, just as I wore in passing, really.
Both that morning
had taken steps like leaves.
I have to be exactly as if I believe I am
still far from Ohio.
To my knowledge I have defended
the lead in a different way.
There are somewhere ages and ages
breathing a notice:
Two roads, one by one
what is the difference between my trip,
one of my little ones
to two single branches.
Tweaked, to clear it up somewhat. I love the randomness of being “far from Ohio.”