The Sun

There is a way the sunlight moves along the ground

In the early morning, each day, new

There is a way her fingernails scrape softly

Over uneven ridges and mountain tops

Flat fields and river-lands

Over hill and valley, strumming, humming

As the world wakes up to receive her

As the eyes of birds shine back in her light

Glinting a deep wild dewy greeting

There is a way her palm strokes across the sky

That unfurls like a flower to receive her light

There is a way she lights up each leaf and feather

That lifts its face to hers in joy

There is a way she bathes the morning clouds

In a thousand hues and colours

She calls out into dens and glades and ancient caves

In languages long forgotten to mankind

Whispering stories of her journey across the heavens

Until the very moment she touches their

Cold, old, stone that sleeps and forgets its dreams

She calls out for the stories that have lain hidden

For millennia, each morning, new

Coaxing the rabbits from their burrows

And the deer-children from the deer-glades

The lion cubs out from behind their mothers

The spiders away from their webs

The bears crawl out of hiding and the gazelle lifts up

Her long, beautiful, delicate neck, her pulse

Beating for all the predators of the jungle to hear and see

But the sun does that, her call pierces every friend

The night prowlers look down from their branches

The wolves forget their kill

The serpents come forth from the shadows

The sun plays a flute from heart to heart,

Her fingertips gliding across each one

She is dazzling in her morning glory

And not one who gazes upon her,

Can ever set eyes upon another.



Image Source: jpg



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