do you think the sun gets lonely up there?

does she watch from the heavens and wonder…

who provides the warmth,

or soft evening rays?

do you think she wonders who paints the skies?

or who tells the birds when to sleep,

and when to rise?

does she sit up there in the dark,

looking down from above

at all the happenings of our world,

never knowing that it’s her,

who brings us warmth and light?

who drips pools of gold,

or paints the sky to begin the night?

maybe she knows it’s her.

or maybe she wishes she could be someone else.

or be somewhere else.

because from up there,

she’ll never see her light