"Zing zing, zing," sang The Child, sitting on Mr. Whales' back as she zoomed by The Prophet. The Prophet lying comfortably, his body stretched out on the ocean observed her.
"My, you're zesty this morning."
"My seaweed tea tasted very good this morning, Prophet."
"Then you must drink the same kind of seaweed tea next time. It makes you hum like a hummingbird."
"Yes, really. Zing once more."
"Zing, zing," said The Child and Mr. Whale zoomed with zest. Suddenly, The Child heard a sound coming from The Prophet.
"Zzzz, Zzzz, Zzzz."
"Prophet, are you sleeping?"
"No, Child. I'm resting my eyes as I look at you have fun."
"Why do your eyes need rest, Prophet?"
"Good question Child. You'll find out the answer one of these days."
"And when will one of these days come, Prophet?" The Child asked as she and Mr. Whale zoomed passed once more.
"Child, I like your zingy spirit. It makes you zesty and curious."
"Is that good, Prophet?"
The Prophet got up off the ocean and returned to the lily pad. The Child was having the zingiest time of her life.
"Zing, zing, zing."
"Come, Child," said The Prophet. "It's time to zing forward."
"Zing forward, Prophet?"
"Yes, Child. It's time to move on."
"Will I come back here again?"
"No, Child. Your footprints fade as you walk out your journey. No one else can walk them, but you."
"You mean they disappear?"
"Yes, Child. You'll still be zinging but at another point in time."
"Wow," The Child said, and she stopped zinging; Mr. Whale stopped zooming, and flipped her playfully on the lily pad.
A faraway look came in The Child's eyes.
"What are you thinking, Child?"
I shall be telling this with a sigh,
Somewhere ages and ages hence.
Two roads diverged in a yellow wood.
And I, Prophet,
Well, I took the one less travelled by,
And that has made all the difference.*
*The Road Not Taken. Robert Frost. 1916. Published in a collection. Mountain Interval