March Spectacle of Union

Upon the dawning of March, a seventh page turns, In the vast script of democracy erstwhile and new. The sentinel stands, a beacon bright that burns, With a tapestry of words, visions to ensue. A gathering voice, a promenade of thought, Where dreams of a nation in oration blend. An annual rite, where future’s course is sought, And collective will on this speaker's tongue depend.

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