Ich bin kürzlich über das Gedicht "The Road Not Taken" von Robert Frost (1874 - 1963) gestolpert. Irgendwie hat es mich so berührt. Dieser Gedanke, was wäre wenn ... der andere Weg, der nicht begangene, der unbegangene. Muss ich ihm nachtrauern? Wehmütig sein? Nein? Ja? Ich weiß es nicht.

Ich möchte euch das Gedicht jedenfalls nicht vorenthalten. Hier ist es:

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.