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The day begins when we decide The same the whole year round. But the sun comes up so variously Following patterns of its own. The week is there to tell us When we work and when we don’t The months are there so we can see The weeks as larger blocks. In winter the sun skirts the horizon It blinds and annoys us. It’s easier in summer: We can forget it overhead. And now and again we watch it Sink into the sea or Disappear behind a hill Before we turn the lights on. |
