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The sky is clear and dark,

the air is cool and I am here,

waiting in the garden

for the earth to turn.

 

Waiting for the light of the sun

to creep across the oceans,

over the farms and the fields

and through the buildings of this city,

waiting for it to turn the clouds pink

and fill the tree above me

with golden light.

 

I know of no other thing

that I can rely on as much

as the turning of the world.