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There is joy in the rise of the sun
Like a king in his colours of ceremony
And joy in the setting sun
Like a departing king on his country itinerary.
Joy in the spring when buds of flowers burst
To break under the sun closed bounds for birds’ thirst.
And the young and bleating kids of sheep
That kick the turf in tufts and leap.
But each life, human, animal or flower
Is tragic in time that must beginnings devour
Like a king dispossessed of his throne
And all his power overthrown.
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