They are going there for their sakes,
This new way has thorns.
The progenitors were overlaid with
Gloomy mist, the avenue is meandering,
Who can foretell the destination.
They are going there to till,
Though no hoes to submit at the farm.
Some their pitchers are oozing
They are going there to mow the fruits.
Stop that, it’s the apartment of sanctuary.
Go there for thy life’s refuge.
That locality is for steadily operatives
And tryers, be there to single out notable
Papers, be there to pilfer backgrounds