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far from the shore
what ends all honour is the source of strife
the rules we write cannot provide us aid
at noontime there is very little shade
the sunlight cuts each eye like a sharp knife
everyone worries we won't make the grade
what ends all honour is the source of strife
we note the passing of each storied life
the fiery active and the merely staid
each of them in memory too soon must fade
what ends all honour is the source of strife