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Robert Frost NYWTS.jpg

(Robert Frost by Fred Palumbo, World Telegram

Staff Reporter- Library of Congress, NY- Telegram

and Sun Collection.)

Two views diverged on what really took place.

I attempted to see each perspective

and tried not to mind if I lost face

and, though my friends told me not to abase

myself, I did so, in retrospective.

I felt we were lost in a foggy wood

and could not see it for looking at trees.

I endeavoured not to use the word ‘should’;

I projected myself into your mood,

but had no access, as you held the keys.

I wanted to walk down that path with you,

but, when I stretched out my hand, you had gone

and brambles and thorns restricted my view.

Pushing on, my clothing soaked with the dew,

thick darkness did not disperse with the dawn.

I’m telling this now because, with a sigh,

we may look back on our past position

and wonder how we could let ourselves die

and cover our ears to the other’s cry,

harbouring pain; stifling contrition.

Two views diverge on what really took place.

Whatever occurred, it was all so slight

and only the chance to display some grace

would have shown us the exit from the maze.

We are both lost because neither was right.