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 Suspended lion face
Spilling at the centre
Of an unfurnished sky
How still you stand,
And how unaided
Single stalkless flower
You pour unrecompensed.
The eye sees you Simplified by distance Into an origin, Your petalled head of flames Continuously exploding.
Heat is the echo of your Gold.
Coined there among Lonely horizontals You exist openly.
Our needs hourly Climb and return like angels.
Unclosing like a hand, You give for ever.

Poem by Philip Larkin
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