The Roads Not Taken (after Robert Frost but different)

I went on my usual morning walk

and came upon the usual fork

to the left, or to the right

up the hill, or on the straight

towards the new estate or to the woods

where people live or badgers and the deer

and not being bothered either way

I turned around and made my way back home.

I won't be telling this ages hence.

It could be had I walked the left

that I found treasure, or a path to hell

and had I walked the other route

I'd fall into a ditch

and broke my spine, and thus died slowly there.

So in my usual sacrilegious take on Zen

my doing neither, instead turning home

was likely just as perfect as the others

so here I am, I'm happy and at peace

writing up this set of words

and outside, shining, is the sun,

for us all, not just for me.