The light that lit the longest day,
now faded,
"time to cut the hay!"
Time to reep those seeds long sewn.
The furrowed lines
where all has grown.
Thank the Sun,
though shy to shine.
Without it, there would be no time.
No hallowed ground,
or sacred soil.
No harvest for a God to spoil.
Seasons would be just a notion.
Tidal waves without an ocean.
Secrets told without a voice
without our Sun,
there'd be no choice.