I know I've read this some time before; I can't place when, though.
I love this poem. What more can I say? To analyze it takes away from its simple beauty.
The soaring ground beneath our feet. The beauty in the everyday. That stagnates in the view of some. But truly remains ever as beautiful.
Is life not capable of awing us? Must we contrive meaning, purpose to content ourselves?
Can't I watch the sun rise
and have that be enough?
Well, yes, but maybe a little more? :)
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