Feast of Feat

Neatly curled into a pearl,

Born we are to this beautiful world,

Infant, they say, are dependent,

Then what makes them smile while staring at nothing?

Struggle, they say, is the only thorn

Which shields more than it corns,

Children, they say, are fragile

Then what makes them so agile?

Struggle, they say, is the only thorn

Which shields more than it corns,

Teenagers, they say, are stubborn and quarrelsome,

Then what makes them calculative and lonesome?

Struggle, they say, is the only thorn

Which shields more than it corns,

Adults, they say, are half learned

Then why are the tables always turned?

Struggle, they say, is the only thorn

Which shields more than it corns,

Old people they say are the kings of abandoned kingdoms

Then what makes them hold such an amount of wisdom?

Struggle, they say, is the only thorn

Which shields more than it corns,

A Palace with a huge fleet

Waits for the Feast of Feat.