Of Rocks And The Wise.

In the river of time, rocks reside.
And the boats of life pass by.

The bravest ones, ram into the rocks,
shattering them, if not in the first,
in the subsequent try.
Loving their scars. Pride, glory,
not afraid of strife.

But alas, we encounter here,
yet another irony of life.
For the boats that go the farthest,
go not through rocks but by their side.
Not obstacles they see,
but anchor sites.

Indeed, an irony of life.
For decorated sweet glory yields to tasteless death,
and the ones that go the farthest,
are not the bravest, but the wise.

In the river of time.