Two roads diverge in a yellow wood,
definitely I must do what I should,
the woods hum in a hopeless mood,
hungry but needless of food.
After every road lies a difference,
I know that with no pretence,
one must come, the fill or the absence,
so waiting is of no essence.
Though laying long before me is lofty ignorance,
yet action is the Lord of Chance.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem