The golden rays, and heatened days.
Memories upon me, nothing but a dream.
This is a cursed time, and yet strangely a time to rejoice.
For there are many roads I could travel through.
Which too choose, overwhelmed, too many ways.
Ah is it but to choose, I must, I must it would seem.
But, dear friend I say, what is the right choice.
What would you tell me? Which way to go? If only I knew.
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Comments about this poem (Many Roads by chad fisher )
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
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