Whilst running from the Sun,
The fields a silhouette cloak,
The trees felled from the step,
Ere the nightingales weep
An eager passing through the fold,
Let the moon collide with the Sun,
Emit every rock and dust sky high,
Scatter all for starladen daylight,
So that as you run towards the shade,
You can look back and observe Her rise
Sans fear of sight of yours be blind.
See the bold Sun handcraft life anew,
For whatever passing this day we mourn
Shall rise forth the Sun the next morn.
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