Robert Frost Generated Poem
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Up from the tangle of withered weeds
Of the last remaining aster flower
Is sadder than any words
Then took the other, as just as fair,
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Of easy wind and downy flake.
I end not far from my going forth
I hold with those who favor fire.
Had worn them really about the same,
And sorry I could not travel both
The darkest evening of the year.