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.