This Sun you speak of, my shadow asks,
Why does it hide from my sight?
Why does it always dart to the left
Whenever I dart to the right?
This Light you say created me,
This shining star above,
Why does it not reveal itself?
Where, for me, is its love?
And what to a shadow does it mean
To be born of some mystical Light,
If the shadow at the end of its day
Vanishes into the night?
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