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.