Sonnet of the Sun | Poem
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| The Woman Clothed with the Sun by Unknown |
In the reflection of the Moon, the Sun gives freely of its light
To illuminate the increasing darkness of the days,
To guide the way in the middle of the coldest nights.
She is but the willing tabernacle of his rays.
Long and bitter has been our winter in which we wait
As we gaze upwards toward the Moon with bated breath.
Is not the Sun promised to return and change our wretched fate,
Lest we harden our fragile hearts and succumb to untimely death?
Let us be not unprepared with weak, malnourished souls.
Make haste! The Moon is setting; her labor is commencing soon.
She yearns to lead us to the rising Sun before the nighttime takes its toll.
Fear not. Lose not your hope, and keep your eyes affixed upon the Moon.
For when the world will reach its darkest hour for all to be undone,
The humble Mother will make way for the advent of the Son.
To illuminate the increasing darkness of the days,
To guide the way in the middle of the coldest nights.
She is but the willing tabernacle of his rays.
Long and bitter has been our winter in which we wait
As we gaze upwards toward the Moon with bated breath.
Is not the Sun promised to return and change our wretched fate,
Lest we harden our fragile hearts and succumb to untimely death?
Let us be not unprepared with weak, malnourished souls.
Make haste! The Moon is setting; her labor is commencing soon.
She yearns to lead us to the rising Sun before the nighttime takes its toll.
Fear not. Lose not your hope, and keep your eyes affixed upon the Moon.
For when the world will reach its darkest hour for all to be undone,
The humble Mother will make way for the advent of the Son.
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