How unfair of the sun to make leaves
Cast a shadow over everything beneath them
As if their photosynthesis is worth less;
To say their green holds lackluster meaning;
To allow things to die.
How untrue to itself must this ball of gas be
To make worlds move around it;
Be shifty in skies and provide light
Only to places in its view?
Are not all things deserving of heat;
To know passions glow;
Burst open with joy;
Cross pollinating the skin of all that seek growth?
What injustice for a sun to burnout;
To turn cold on all that grew dependency;
Wreak havoc and devastation in its passing;
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