Either Way Poem by Suzette Richards

The morning is fair and without compare;
desire to escape commotion in motion.
With apologies to Frost, but I'm lost
in sylvan idyll; my thoughts to distil.
I should have turned left or maybe the cleft
ignored as the bend designates the end.
Peering into the void I can't avoid
the nagging feeling that the sheep bleating
as they're trudging through the mud, chewing cuds
on the road most travelled and levelled,
would've been easier terrain—not bane
of thorns and thistles. As temper bristles,
thoughts turn mutinous. Incongruously
I'll save either way for another day.