[by Bruce Petterson]
The sun in the morning.
Like a protective mother
she rises and brings warmth to everything she touches.
Artists try to harness her beauty,
scientists study to find her secrets.
Every being feels more alive when she is there
sad when she is shrouded by a cloud.
She leaves each day with a promise to return
that is never broken.
Just want to say that the poem is so touchy.
Sanctum of my imagination, dreams, and stories of life
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