If Not Yet Lost To

Men In Their Generations Are Like The Leaves Of The Trees. The Wind Blows And One Year's Leaves Are Scattered On The Ground; But The Trees Burst Into Bud And Put On Fresh Ones When The Spring Comes Round.

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

She Sent Him A Warm And Gentle Wind, And Lord Odysseus Was Happy As He Set His Sails To Catch The Breeze. He Sat Beside The Steering Oar And Used His Skill To Steer The Raft.

As Leaves On The Trees, Such Is The Life Of Man.

The Journey Is The Thing.