The Sun

As the sun in the morning pulls itself into the sky,
The sounds of bird-song and the scraping of a squirrel ascending a tree,
Remind us that we’re back here again,
Where we’ve always been.

As the sun in the evening-time sinks below the swell,
The sounds of the waves washing against the seawall,
Remind us that the waters will flow forever onwards,
Their ripples wending their way around the world,
Without us.