Dedicated is the yellow summer sun, Crawling up the sky in a slight curve, Burning brighty as midday comes, To peak at noon with a steady stance.

Settled below are the waters of the wild, Green with envy at the bright one's

climb,

Angered by his morning glow and rise, From the earth they flow upon like vines.

Gain heat, the waters heard, and dress light, Fly up high, the tufts said, and join our fight, So they rose from the dirt, reached to the skies, And hid the world below from the sun's sight.

Seated at his feet, the clouds asked, "Why do you force us dry as a husk? To only make an exit silently at dusk, And leave us in the dark, With that cold white mask?"

Saddened by their meek ignorance, The sun, no longer yellow, bellows, "A hallowed being of great importance, Shall not be question by shallow fellows."

The two engaged in a war without words, And when they struck, thunders were heard, But one by one, the sun took them down, Til the clouds in the sky were torn apart.

As the fallen comrades poured below, The sun, waning, descending in mellow, Flexed his arms and stretched his yellow, Fingers that shook hands with earth fellows,

And promised to return tomorrow to say hello.