By Ruby Archer

One thought comes ever hauntingly
Across my path of day,
Awaits not any summoning,
Nor needs a prayer to stay;
And if I flee, ’tis only that
It ever may pursue.
The thought, my love?—Is you.
The thought is you.
A haven beckons luringly,—
A haven safe and wide,—
My little bark of life to moor,
And in its heart abide.
How free my bark! No other shore
Could tempt it from the blue.
The haven, love?—Is you.
The haven is you.

The Hill We Climb

By Amanda Gorman

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