Nothing will you try to hold.
Unafraid of dying,
Nothing is beyond your reach.
Controlling the future,
Like taking the master’s place,
Handling his tools,
You risk cutting yourself deep.
Born soft, supple, alive with grace,
Men grow stiff in death’s embrace.
Plants tender, pliant in their birth,
Brittle, dry, return to earth.
Inflexible, disciples of death’s call,
Soft and yielding, life knows all.
Hard and stiff, soon broken, fail,
Soft and supple, they prevail.
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