The Backcountry Path

Two sluice cracks converge at yellow bush,
So sorry I could not travel both,
as just one coxswain, which way to push?
Looked up one hole as best I could
(although it swam in overgrowth.)

I’ll test the other; (with no cover hair.)
True, number two's got best exit claim,
but it be gassy and far tighter there.
Up this unknown path, should I dare?
This wet they’re just about the same.

Two paths thus offered, with equal lay;
but few had entered the chute in back,
so I left the front for some other day!
Choosing then to push on that way
(with doubts I’d get another crack.)

I will be telling this with a sigh–
somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two valley cracks converged, and I–
I took the one less traveled by,
that day up the butte made more sense.

FOR REFERENCE: The Road Not Taken by Robert Frost
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.