Two roads diverged in a hollow glen,
and I stood frozen, unsure again.
Not yellow woods, but gray and dim,
where every tree was stark and grim.
The air was still, the ground was bare, —
no sign of life, no breeze, no care.
The path ahead was worn with tread,
yet seemed to whisper of quiet dread.
I thought to turn, to take my leave,
but found my feet would not reprieve;
for something held me, deep, unseen, —
a weight that dulled the sharp and keen.
And though the road stretched dark and cold,
it murmured truths I dare not hold.
In shadows deep, the heart confides, —
where sorrow lingers, yet strength abides.
So on I walked, the path my guide,
through forest thick where fears reside;
for even Christ, in a garden once lost,
knew every road comes with its cost.
And when I reached the farthest bend,
the night gave way; I saw its end.
Not bright, nor bold, but soft and true, —
the smallest spark, a dawn anew.
The Lutheran Column 