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The last of the sun's rays slips behind the mountain. By the dying light, you can still see the faint silhouette of the mountain range.

For even the sun must die a blameless death
each night it dies for us all
each morning it lives again
reborn

Your heart
that small shrine to the sun
deep inside you
still shines
It keeps the flame
waiting for the sun's rebirth
when the morning next arrives
later than before

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