The Wolf is a noble beast in the snows of the mountains
But on the plains of the desert he is but a jackal
A Wolf on the peaks poets will speak of fondly
A Jackal on the plains is killed out of hand
This is the nature of things among dogs and men
Who can change it?
The Wolf howls in the north, and the Scythe reaps in the south
If each stays to their own direction
Harmony is found under heaven
“The Wheat Scythe of the West”