So many people themselves do promote
Yet not everyone can be someone of note
Your own praises to others you may sing
But only one can be the best at anything
Not everyone can know of Worldly fame
But the Reaper treats all equal all the same
With his sharp scythe he mows the wealthy and famous down
He treats them as he treats the paupers of the town
It is a fact of life and facts do never lie
That we are mortals and all mortals are born to die
We cannot bring back the Seasons that are gone
And only Nature herself does live on
You may promote yourself as someone great
But you may not be the one others do celebrate.
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