In a quaint little village, where odd things abound,
There once stood a sign that made people look ’round.
A fork in the road, as the travelers were told,
But not what you’d expect, for this tale is bold.
Not a split in the path, not a choice to be made,
But a gleaming utensil, in the sunshine displayed!
A silver fork standing, prongs pointing to skies,
Confusing all travelers with bewildered eyes.
“Which way should I go?” they’d ask in despair,
Should they follow the fork or just stop and stare?
But the fork, oh so clever, stood silently still,
Its purpose a mystery, a whimsical thrill.
The left prong led to pancakes, fluffy and round,
While the right prong promised pie, the best in the town.
The middle prong hinted at soup with a swirl,
And the handle suggested a spaghetti twirl!
So the people would ponder, and some would debate,
Should they chase after noodles or opt for the plate?
But the fork never answered, just glistened and gleamed,
A shiny conundrum that was more than it seemed.
In that village, they say, where odd things unfold,
The fork in the road is a legend well told.
A reminder to all, when choices abound,
Sometimes life’s just a cutlery, twinkling around!
