He is my sun and I am but a wild flower:
A beauty from a little, insipid race.
Loosing my chance to be noticed,
For there are better flowers than me.

He is my sun and I am but a flower
I live from the light of his at day;
Shiver from the dark when he is away
With this fragile, ephemeral body.

He is my sun and I am but a flower
I envy the clouds for they are always together
With my dearest sun that I fancy above all
And here I am, rooted still on the ground.

He is my sun and I am but a flower
Cursed to gaze at him from birth to death
Until I bow my bald head on my grave
And drop my last, unobtrusive petal.