And there in the road, came a fork. One road of possibility the other of remorse. Though the paths, again, may meet their twists and turns diverge and ground beneath their trodding feet sings anew each turn.
But is it the trail of left of right? For, surely one can only know what is held within their sight. Close your mouth and free your mind. T'is a choice you've made before. There is no moment with a twin; that is what I warn.
Each second on a clock is a forked road passing make all you can out of all you are and don't count on roads converging