A poem simply sounds the bell, of that which words could never tell.


Bright the myriad of stars,
Yet only one
A giver of life,
Our shining sun,
A portal of light,
What we may become,
Beautifully drawn
Across the sky,
Our inner horizon,
Its glorious warmth,
Luring our hearts
From darkness,
And curing our scorn,
For the night.