The Sun
Behold our sun;
the politically correct.
Pulls up the flowers;
makes hearts reflect.
Steers all it's planets
to circle it's will.
Revolves again,
going further still.
Forms every cloud
to cause them rain.
Then soaks the soil;
that rivers drain.
Shines morning glow
from mist to dew.
Brings out our smiles
to make us new.
Makes every rainbow
in every light,
that every colour
should bring us sight.
and builds the wind
to spread the Earth
in all it's pollen's
cooling mirth.
And when it sets,
it's currents hushed.
Your soul's relaxed;
no longer rushed.
Copyright © Trevor Mcleod | Year Posted 2015
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