The Sun

To a dear white flower

Fret not neither cower

Leaving often taste sour

My absence for an hour

Will bring rain to shower

After all has been scour

My rays will slowly glower

I will finally return to power

Pluck you from your bower

To live in a home called “our”

That will be my only dower

But if life becomes so dour

Smile, think of me and tower

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