There is new light under you, as the day takes flight,
as the sun pastes horizons over you, the heavy set hanging head,
looking up to see what's new, blue hope is cooked away.
There is new light under you, a lofty cry that steps lightly and plays,
as the day is new blossom, the world shrugs off its ardour and ripens its hue.
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These are, for the most part, poems.
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