The sun is sick of rising early, no longer her eager starts before
5a.m., she lifts her sleepy head no earlier than 7 now. Blurry
still her eyelids flutter....
making patterns on the purple sky
as she yawns, the light drifts upward
till it paints the sky with molten gold as, glorying in her power,
she lifts her head over the horizon.
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