The Road Not Taken
Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;
Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,
And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.
I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I,
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.
I like for youto be still:
it is as throughyou are absent
and you hear mefrom far away and my voice does not touch you
It seems asthrough your eyes had flown away
and it seemsthat a kiss had sealed your mouth
as all thingsare filled with my soul
your emerge fromthe things, fill with my soul
you are like mysoul, a butterfly of dreams
and you are likethe word melancholy
I like for you to be still, and you seemfar away
It sounds asthough you are lamenting,
a butterflycooing like a dove
And you hear mefrom far away,
and my voice does not reach you
Let me come tobe still in your silence
And let me talkto you with your silence
That is brightlike a lamp, simple as a ring
You are like thenight, with its stillness and constellations
Your silence is that of a star, as remount and candid
I like for you to be still: it is as though you are absent
distant and dull of sorrow, as though you had died
One word then,one smile, is enough
And I m happy, happy that’s not true
I remember quite clearly now when the story happened. The autumn leaves were floating in measure down to the ground, recovering the lake, where we used to swim like children, under the sun was there to shine. That time we used to be happy. Well, I thought we were. But the truth was that you had been longing to leave me, not daring to tell me. On that precious night, watching the lake, vaguely conscious, you said: "Our story is ending."
The rain was killing the last days of summer. You had been killing my last breath of love, since a long time ago. I still don't think I'm gonna make it through another love story. You took it all away from me. And there I stand, I knew I was going to be the one left behind. But still I'm watching the lake, vaguely conscious, and I know my life is ending.