There is a word on the crossroad <br />That marks the open road ahead; <br />There is a song coming from the dark woods <br />Of growing cities, no less dangerous; <br /> <br />There is a huge family riding on horses, <br />Travelling different roads, <br />Exploring and learning after <br />Why one was better than another. <br /> <br />A word sent to open the road <br />Makes that road a singing road; <br />The road, choosing the rider; <br />The song, becoming the ride.<br /><br />Dejan Stojanovic<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/robert-frost-2/
