The Sun
Prying voyeur
Shining eye of heaven,
Why but this assunder?
Why call on our amorous souls
From the romance of silent night
By your glint throu' chunks and curtains?
Peeping Tom
Herald of waking dawn
Like a sexton calling sleepers
For morning prayer;
Why flash throu' the irises
Of our courting eyes?
Oh morning!
I weep to see you come so soon
In the company of this voyeuristic sun.
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