The Dying Son

All the day long,
The sun lies in the sky,
It sheds its glorious light o'er all
Giving life to all that look on't

As it reaches the end of its life
It shines its most glorious and brilliant
Then it slowly fades,
Disfigured by the mountain.

Yet as it dies,
Soft ribbons of color—
Ignored by so much of the world—
Streak across the sky

There are those that see it
And shield their eyes,
Complaining that it is too bright.
They wish it a quick death.

As its blood flows freely across the sky,
The sensitive ones take note
And give thanks to God
For its dying sacrifice.

Its life is almost gone.
The light has dimmed.
Those that accepted its light
Mourn the terrible loss.

Its accusers can look on't now
And not see the great glory that remains.
They are relieved and worry no more
About what its luster might have done.

It is gone now,
But a fire still burns
To tell the story
Of the magnificent sun.

At last the last ray fades.
It is done.
The sun, giver of life,
Ends its own for the sake of others.

Those fed by its light
Anxiously await
The time when it shall come again
And once more nourish them.

And indeed it will
Rise again on the morn
To once more nourish the world
With its everlasting light.