The flowers caressed by the dew doth grow; the paths of men lead not where we know; no man knows how the mountain is high; no one can tell how far gazes the wistful eye; no one knows for how many an hour, prevails the beauty of a single flower; no man can know even by the sweat of his brow, what fortune future may yield followed by now; no one knows where the trail may go,
once such steps are covered by fall of snow, no man knows whether after summer’s day, he’d still in spirit be cheerful & gay; no man can discern relity from dream, when such is glorified by the sun’s beam; no man can completely evade despair, for inasmuch as the sun shadows pervade there; no one solitary may remain; when fortified with friendship’s gain; no one comes into thi world without being born; inasmuch as the night is preceded by morn.
