Honed, forged, rising from fire,
kicked by the heel of the moon,
the sun bows on mountains, it's stage.
With flare she dances,
enraptures, romances,
pirouettes, prances,
with brilliance that never will age.

We need that amber honey--
never closer, never farther--
than she was when first born.
Gases rise, arching,
all eyes gazing, gasping,
every spirit is waking.
Without sun we'd have no morn.

Centering our universe,
giving heat to places, things.
Her radiance e'er shines, beautiful,
as only she can.
Plants, animals, man,
are sun-kissed. God's plan
is . . . redemption's possible.

Applause is long overdue
for that firey, sweet amber hue
and her magnificent show, flare.
Through her, we know God is there.