Every path, a blinding road
Covered by the sweet warmth and tall tree,
Each leading to one of life’s humble abode,
Where dreams are no longer fantasy.
This boldly grown cherry blossom tree
grown beautifully tall and wise with age,
Did split the path before me twice at the knee,
and left life with another blank page.
To left or to right, which way do I go?
Both paths worn, but fresh in morning course with dew,
Each inviting this morning’s cock to crow,
And now I must choose, which one of two.