One morning while England was away, Canada packed as much food, drink and money into a sack as he could, and sneaked out of the house. He hurried down the narrow path and into a yellow wood, where it soon widened and split before him into two separate roads.

He paused and scratched his head, unsure of which one to take. Both looked equally worn, which suggested to him that both had been used an equal amount of times. In that case, did it really matter which one he picked? He simply wanted to do some exploring today so why was he having such difficulty deciding where he wanted to go?

Canada sighed and promptly continued on the left road, vowing that he would leave the other one for another day.


If it wasn't already obvious, I based this on 'The Road Not Taken' by Robert Frost (even though he was American).