As I stroll along, often I’d be stumped by the forks in the road.

I hear Frost’s lament, “sorry I could not travel both”.

And I am bemused when he sighs,

"Somewhere ages and ages hence,
two roads diverged in a wood,
and I, I took the one less travelled by,
and that has made all the difference."

But when clouds darken my brow, I would hear:

"If you ride to the left, you will lose your horse.
If you ride to the right, you will lose your head."

This is when I sigh and wish the road was not forked.

If my fate is to lose my horse, I’d rather not be given a choice.

If my fate is to lose my head, I really would rather not be given a choice.

Unlike the king of Babylon who stopped at the fork in the road to seek an omen,

I will not be casting lots with arrows or consult idols or livers.

Let fate deal with me as its wont,

With kindness, I pray, I want.