the negro who tried to fiddle the wolves away.
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The path I did not take comes back
To taunt me with it's green,
And everything my dull days lack
Blooms in that distant scene.
The opportunities I missed
Are dust upon the way,
And I can solve each baffling twist
Of that yesterday.
The path I did not take would seem
Dark with reproach to me,
So flat an ending to the dream,
So dull, reality!
But wandering another road,
The skies were always blue;
And I could carry Trouble's load
Because I walked with you!
i found this book outside a bookstore in a free book pile. it's an old medical book from around 1909 with random newspaper clippings pasted all throughout it like a scrapbook of poems, cartoons, and tragedies.
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