Read my little fable: He that runs may read. Most can raise the flowers now, For all have got the seed.

It's better to have tried and failed than to live life wondering what would've happened if I had tried

Ours not to reason why, ours but to do and die.

Though thou wert scattered to the wind, Yet is there plenty of the kind.

And sometimes through the mirror blue The knights come riding two and two.

Ring out the grief that saps the mind, for those that were here we see no more.

Those who depend on the merits of their ancestors may be said to search in the roots of the tree for those fruits which the branches ought to produce.