Trite

The course of a man is
not known till it's followed
The bitter of a pill
Not known till it's swallowed

Grass is still greener
Till under the feet
A fool and his money
Will never quite meet

The sun is up now
I guess I'll make hay
What kind of shoes fit
On feet made of clay?

It must be some deep
Where waters are still
I know he's gone over
I'm not sure which hill

The gift of a horse
Can't be checked for his teeth
And under a ladder
Should I walk beneath?

Is there a door nail
That is fully expired
Does a pin know that neatness
Is all but required

If the church mouse yelled out
Would anyone know
It's easy to dine
On the fruit that hangs low

I can't teach anew
A dog that's mature
Can I keep a man down
when his good is unsure?

I'm ready to reap
I guess I should sow
Is all well that ends well?
I don't really know