Along this path

There was a girl, she loved guitar, wrote lyrics and music, for listening afar.
She walked a path alone and sad, until one day she met, a young man of light,
so brilliant of soul and big of heart, a giving tree just like herself.
The journey was long, so many paths of wide divides, gave many a choice.
At times a failed attempt would slow their gait, the path uncleared of obstacles, a bit debris.
Yet life events would show the course to be traveled, a slower progress, testing their patience.
There was a woman, she loved a man, no regrets for this single path.

Robert Frost:
Two roads diverged into 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, 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 took the one less traveled by
and that has made all the difference.