Fool the men we are indeed
The good to complain bout love loving unable to recognize in dust is left unappreciated.

With eyes closed to know not rather like to dont know tiptoaing on edge of between too far is too close to reach.

Bloom the trees of life that rose to flowers of cherries and be bold in faith and a ****** rain may pour its whiles our fields.

Sleep the thousand nights to day gone we slipped and fell thousand dreams and loves  unnoticed like the mountains.