Morning comes and goes,
noon comes and goes,
and here is the eventide;
a golden caressing sun,
with its friendly breeze,
whispering in soft tunes.
Inspire me, o yellow sun, and speak to my empty heart,
for I know not the direction,
to come or go,
but thy little light may know,
all the secrets,
of this and other days.
A special angel of the evening,
lives in the sun,
and renders all the qualities,
to the intrepid souls.
The recipient is you and I
looking at the source above.