In the near-night morning

When the sun

Battling timidity

Avoided approaching the skies.

When birds laid slain with sleep

When the day

Had of late, been begotten

And laid suckling in the rocking ***** of time.

Upon an insomnia-provoked thought I pondered.



Wondering what the age of the sun might be.

Delved into some critical reasoning here.

Danced to the beats of deep philosophizing there.

Borrowing Plato's cloak....





The sun

Impregnated with heat

She sprays the earth with good shining.

Negotiating with darkness

She innovates light.

She constantly radiates a golden smile.

NO WRINKLES IN HER EYES, LIE!



Alas! Alas!

My thoughts procreated futility.

We may never know the age of the sun.