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Is it sunrise
Or is it sunset?
Whatever,
It is glorious
Or will be
Or maybe it
Had already been
Will it no longer be?
The ghost of herself
Heading home
Pulled along
by the future she never had
Held by the resistance
of present flow
Oh the weakness
of a heart of oak
Pulled back by it
Into history
So we stand on the very edge
A glorious past
An uncertain future
Surrendering to both
There is such peace here
In this shining morning
A new moon
Is rising.

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