The Sun

November 20, 2008
Her golden blessings caress the earth
And whisper to her child an
Echoing, silent, secret lullaby.
Nature bends to bow at her exit
In her pleasure she enhances the sky—
Yellow, orange, pink, purple—
The master of the art of exit.
The world holds its breath as she slips
Behind her earthly veil.
But only after smothering every open creature
With her love and warmth.
Those who live from her love hold in their
Hearts a sweet sorrow for what has passed…
Yet sit it solemn silence and excited anticipation.
There are three who know her love well
And her eternally desired golden hue.
Mother’s mother, Mother, and Mother’s child
Sit on a porch, sighing away the sun,
Awaiting another day.

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