The Sun

The splendid summer sun-a token of enchant.
Emerging with zeal each sunrise I grant.
And burning so fiercely, yet lenient and clam.
To keep the world glowing it heals with it's balm.
Espied by al, such a prominent figure.
Growing through day much brighter and bigger.
But mortified by winter, it winces forlorn.
And waits for the summer to be reborn.
It soothingly waits with wistful longing.
Resentful through winter not really belonging.
Scanty with umbrage and sleeping through day.
Waiting for winter to die in dismay.
But again it will rise once the winter has passed.
So forceful and mighty and warm at last.
And there it remains like a statue of fire.
Whirling and dazzling n'er to retire.

by Tamsin Douglas

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