Under the veil of dawn’s soft grace,
the sun ascends, a gilded trace.
Through mist and shade, its light unfurls,
a silent call to wake the world.

It paints the hills in hues of fire,
lifting souls with quiet desire.
Across the fields, its warmth cascades,
weaving gold through hidden glades.

Yet by dusk’s edge, it slips away,
a fleeting brushstroke of the day.
Leaving skies in whispered hues,
it bids farewell in gentle blues.

And night enfolds, yet we recall,
the sun’s warm promise to us all.


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