Wednesday, February 17, 2016

The Pocket Not Chosen

Two pockets emerged from a path of green felt,

Choices instantly wretched that I could not accept both 

And much time I took, as I knelt

Overlooking the possibilities of the journey 

To which my ball could sway; 

Eyeing the path of the easiest pouch 

To where the landing was moments away,

Then contemplating the other, as just as sure, 

And having perhaps the better trail,

Because it was bare and had no blur;

Though as for that rolling there 

Had chosen them just about the same,

And both that evening equally sat

On green felt two paths wanting a wander.

Oh, I favored the easiest that day!

Yet, knowing how play leads on to play,

I wondered if the other path would again come my way.

I mournfully tell this with a cry

And thoughts of time standing still,

Somehow my chosen path 

Did not choose I, and forced to ask, why?

I took the one most chosen,

Easiest on the eye, 

And that pocket taught me,

It's not the most traveled path that the ball must enter.

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