Robert Frost by Dejan Stojanovic

There is a word on the crossroad
That marks the open road ahead;
There is a song coming from the dark woods
Of growing cities, no less dangerous;

There is a huge family riding on horses,
Travelling different roads,
Exploring and learning after
Why one was better than another.

A word sent to open the road
Makes that road a singing road;
The road, choosing the rider;
The song, becoming the ride.