The house seemed quiet, a nice respite from her travels. She made spiced tea and sipped it as she gazed out the window. It looked like it might clear up soon as the clouds drifted away. Such a pretty fall day, the air crisp with fall and the house warm and cozy.<br/><br/>Vera wondered if she would get any more company. The trail was difficult to find and the little Gingerbread House was out of the way of the well traveled paths. Briefly she remembered a poem from some famous poet long ago.<br/><br/>The Road Not Taken<br/><br/>BY ROBERT FROST<br/><br/>Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,<br/>And sorry I could not travel both<br/>And be one traveler, long I stood<br/>And looked down one as far as I could<br/>To where it bent in the undergrowth;<br/><br/>Then took the other, as just as fair,<br/>And having perhaps the better claim,<br/>Because it was grassy and wanted wear;<br/>Though as for that the passing there<br/>Had worn them really about the same,<br/><br/>And both that morning equally lay<br/>In leaves no step had trodden black.<br/>Oh, I kept the first for another day!<br/>Yet knowing how way leads on to way,<br/>I doubted if I should ever come back.<br/><br/>I shall be telling this with a sigh<br/>Somewhere ages and ages hence:<br/>Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—<br/>I took the one less traveled by,<br/>And that has made all the difference.