Let there be a day made
for the staggering shrines of day!
He pokes shyly above the horizon
for some minutes
but then he disappears
And it's cold --
What good could come from a cold day like this?
In the ice there you can play;
you can dance in the winter darkness
in this extravagant place of origin
with bears that roam in their white suits
and the warriors that run astoundingly
towards the mythic sun
But they won't get it --
not until summer, then
When endless night turns to the endless day
A sacred place where the wolves and the huskies play
and the ceaseless flux of light and blistery white
captures all of our brains
So, let it be known in this acquired place of origin
that a great man of intellect
or passion or respect
was born in the land of slow-falling snow
And quick-dancing lights of the sky
Obrigado pela leitura!
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