First, a fresh spring dew,
draped upon the hopes and dreams,
of a thousand hearts.

Then a broken soul,
Tears of blood oozing in vain,
As those hearts await.

Then a nervous wreck,
Blinding themselves in the flow,
Ready to give up.

Then a dying flame,
In a hero’s defiance,
Rowing on the stream.

Then a sinking wreck,
now as a humble hero,
floats an autumn dew.

Thus ends the story of the man,
His path set right on happy track.
Yet this state remains uncertain,
For paths diverge, or loop right back.