Poem - Choice

Choice

As dawn makes its way through the trees,
I see a bridge astride a creek.
Steam floats lazily from dead stumps,
I stand, though my legs are weak.
A road goes to the bridge,
But none comes out.
An easy path crosses mine,
It's not the only route.
So on this day before the rest,
I have a choice that's very old.
The certain way that leads nowhere,
Or the one that's adventuresome and bold.
TLC
1982