An old man,
With his back wretchedly bent,
Asking his cane for a dose of life;
And a young man,
On the galloping horse of pride,
Wanting the whole world
For his racecourse:
Now,
the flight of dust,
And the eyes of regret
Darken;
Now,
at the table of the wind
The Earth waits
For a new guest to descend.
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