The sun dances, tangos, in the never-ending bluish sky
a little tipsy from hanging so long, dangling ever high.
Arising, she unfurls and detangles her long, velvet hair
and prays not to be seduced into the devils' lair.
She shines for all but saves coronas for his admiration;
love, yes, with purity and sincere dedication.
Is she yours alone or must she be shared?

A vision so beauteous that directly seen, blinds.
She's much to so many and admirers are fine.
A strange hum resounds, nature's symphony,
the heaven's are quaking with the sun's misery.
An electrical jolt, like deaths' tug, a quick grip,
leaves clouds scrambling for a lifeboat, a ship.
Is she yours alone? Has love been declared?

The lightning lingers, fingering from her sad somber eyes.
She can't leave her post, heaven. Surely you've surmised
her dedication. Her thunderous roar tumbles loudly, falls down.
Her sunny face, painted, she once laughed, a clown.
Far from arms, on a pedestal she keeps for perching,
she cries out but, in the same breath, she keeps shining.
She can't shine for you alone; her light must be shared.