I will arise and go now, and go to Innisfree,
And a small cabin built there, of clay and wattles made;
Although I'm not entirely clear on what wattles are,
It just seems like a fun idea, me in a bee-loud glade
Nine bean rows will I have there –wait, what's with all the bees?
And nine rows seems like a lot, when three will probably do just fine
I mean, it's only me, am I right, and here a rhyming word would be "peas"
Although I'm not planting peas. Maybe some cilantro.
On second thought I'll go in a minute, in a little while I'll go to Innisfree
As soon as I do that other stuff I have to do.
I have to make some calls.
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 got sort of dark and weird with this undergrowth
Then checked out the other, which seemed just as fair
And now that I thought about it, had perhaps the better claim
Because it was grassy and wanted wear
But as for that, why was no one walking down there?
Is there something I should know about?
And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black
Oh I kept them both for another day
You would think these roads would be marked somehow!
Or there would be a map or whatever
Because I could not stop for Death,
He kindly stopped for me—
I screamed and ran away, because have you ever seen Death?
With the skull-head and giant scythe?
No thanks, Death, I'll walk
p.s. Wonderland here.