The Sun
Have you ever seen
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anything
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in your life
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more wonderful
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than the way the sun,
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every evening,
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relaxed and easy,
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floats toward the horizon
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and into the clouds or the hills,
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or the rumpled sea,
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and is gone--
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and how it slides again
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out of the blackness,
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every morning,
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on the other side of the world,
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like a red flower
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streaming upward on its heavenly oils,
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say, on a morning in early summer,
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at its perfect imperial distance--
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and have you ever felt for anything
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such wild love--
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do you think there is anywhere, in any language,
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a word billowing enough
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for the pleasure
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that fills you,
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as the sun
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reaches out,
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as it warms you
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as you stand there,
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empty-handed--
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or have you too
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turned from this world--
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or have you too
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gone crazy
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for power,
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for things?
Mary Oliver
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