It is the Bright sun, the quintessential wallow
It is your very own purpose, that you choose to follow
Neither does it wait nor hide from one,
but perhaps it is that piece, which keeps you on the run
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It is your prized possession, a dream you treasure
An awe inspiring faith, and grit beyond measure
It is distinct for everyone, their supposed quest
And only when it is found, will its thirst come to rest.