His Untraveled Road I am a road I am rough and uneven bumpy and unrefined is my texture few will travel me even fewer know I exist but where I can lead you is paradise Secret and remote are the destinations from me tranquility and peace are there where the only sound is the movement of water over rocks and the rustle of leaves in the autumn wind it is there where I await my traveler hoping he will see the beauty in my imperfections
Mary Claire Curtin's Questions:
Do you get from this poem that many people overlook others because of their
physical imperfections. That they may fail to see the inner beauty in people
because they don't give them a chance. I want the reader to get the
impression that most people take the common road and miss out on so much.