Ink is the snow that covers everything;
Yet few are the eyes that see it.
Feeble and narrow are many minds,
they look and see only the reflection.
For deep are the wells beneath, and
their richness and wealth hidden to many:
Their secret is kept safe by genius;
and by foolishness and ignorance untouched.
Blessings and happiness abide with few,
Unknowingly they are it's source and
in them, the many see only confusion.
For most are lost from free sight,
Yet their hindrance is unknown to them.
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