When I went for a walk,
I came to a fork in the road.
This is not a metaphor.
A silver utensil lay on the pavement,
Tines upward and pointing straight ahead.
As I reached down to pick it up,
I heard the mocking laughter of Hecate,
Goddess of the crossroads.
Foolish mortal, open your eyes.
I followed the branch on the left
Never to be seen again.
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