Dad stumbled upon this while cleaning out a “miscellaneous box.” A moment in time, in the form of a poem from the end of a tumultuous sophomore year in college:
Walking backwards, Looking down all the crossroads, I didn't take. To see the lives I will not live. There is no going back. Only one path is mine. Sadness - so many paths appeal. Try to look ahead, the memories of choices made, of turns not taken, Haunt and cause hesitation, Fear of wrong choices. A Hope that paths have destinations in common. Different languages say the same things, Could different paths lead to the same place?