We told our tales as we sat under. Morning's sleepy sky. With all the colours of. The sunrise shining in our eyes. One then another. With a story of yesterday's life. Or of a lover who had. Gone in a moment of strife. No thought of sleep ever dwells. Upon the wise man's mind. Some task or audience. Stealing every moment of his time. Thus we have learned to live. While mortal men. Stand waiting to die. How can we do what must be done. In just one short life. And if you ask. Then you must know. If you still doubt. You should be told. It was not we. That made it so. It was by those. Who went before. And there you sit. Tomorrow's child. So full of love. So full of life. But you must rise. To meet the day. Lest you become another tale. Another tale .... .