The rose is a rose,
And was always a rose.
But the theory now goes
That the apple’s a rose,
And the pear is, and so’s
The plum, I suppose.
The dear only knows
What will next prove a rose.
You, of course, are a rose—
But were always a rose.

Some say the world will end in fire,
Some say in ice.
From what I’ve tasted of desire
I hold with those who favor fire.
But if it had to perish twice,
I think I know enough of hate
To say that for destruction ice
Is also great
And would suffice.

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.

Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village, though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.

My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound’s the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.

The woods are lovely, dark, and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.

She sat in that chair by the window,
Watching as life went by.
Hoping to receive the letter,
The letter that never arrived.

She sat in that chair by the window,
Listening to the sounds of life.
Clutching to the hope of the letter,
The letter that never arrived.

She sat in the chair by the window,
With the light fading from her eyes.
She never gave up the hope of the letter,
The letter that never arrived.

As I sat in that chair by the window,
With a tear running from my eye.
I wished I had sent that letter,
The letter that never arrived.

Morn as I broke a glass at home
And thought,
"I should have known."
I fixed it fast, it did not last
Why is there a million shards for one broken glass?

We have no time to sit and wait,
Our incumbents already procrastinate.
What will it take for them to understand,
We can not act this way towards the land.
The skies cry polluted rain,
Those neurotoxins dance in my brain.
Our governments think they know whats best,
But how am I differentiated from the rest.
They do not know my personal needs,
My wants, my desires, my worldly dreams.
They are but that to infect decision,
To enter the brain with a quick incision.
Not to control, but to inform,
The world we live in is finding it hard to perform.
The things so many take for granted
have become a product of disenchantment.
Those that have noticed have started to yell,
To Rachel Carson's pen critics fell.
But to what end did it serve?
We want more than we healthily deserve.
With the end goal being money and power,
We have approached upon her final hour.
We have no time to sit and wait,
The problems tend to exacerbate.
What will it take to mitigate the masses?
While our governments feet are stuck in malaises.

For me, dreams don't come
I must find them, create them
Or lay blank and stuck