Life And Death Are Balanced As It

We Battle On In Words, As Always, Mere Words, And What's The Cure? We Cannot Find A Thing.

Few Sons Are Equal To Their Fathers; Most Fall Short, All Too Few Surpass Them.

It Is Not Possible To Fight Beyond Your Strength, Even If You Strive.

Even His Griefs Are A Joy Long After To One That Remembers All That He Wrought And Endured.

We All Scribble Poetry.