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(Resolution) Early in the day, The sun yawns as she wakes, Stretching forth her fulgent rays. Man in his Inn rose from his sleep, Ready for the day to make his hay. Day after day, Man sows his seed, always, A few here and a little there, With hope he sows, expecting a sprout. In the absence of rain; Man would drill the soil, In search of a Cerulean monster's child At some point, man would go yonder, Down the valley or through a thick forest To fetch from the Cerulean monster sister's keep, So he may wet his seed in hope, On and on around the wheel of season, Man would his hay not cease. I observed keenly and I concluded on this; Man is not without faith after all, Even the vilest amongst all, He would sleep one day and hope to see the next ray, Man indeed is not void of faith But it is a faith that's often misplaced. ∞ ∞ ∞
— Cotek