Old men are children once again a dream that sways and wavers into the hard light of day.
Old men, what are they? Fast fading the leaf, Three-footed they walk, yet frail as a child, As a dream set afloat in the daylight.
Arrogance is truly the child of impiety, but from health of soul comes happiness, dear to all, much prayed for.
For children preserve the fame of a man after his death.
Beyond age, leaf withered, man goes three footed no stronger than a child is, a dream that falters in daylight.
The so-called mother of the child isn't the child's begetter, but only a sort of nursing soil for the new-sown seed. The man, the one on top, is the true parent, while she, a stranger, foster's a stranger's sprout.
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