We are but fleeting shadows cast by a wistful lonely sun,
Which dares not care too much, when all is gone before begun.
Eternal by our measure; of fleeting life a mere spectator,
Arriving first and leaving last, this all we know curator.

The radiance of our planet's sphere, and benefit to all,
Earth spins and bows with due respect; our reward its rise and fall.
Infinite heart of finite life, this hot yet cold observer,
Looking but trying hard not to see, as it bestows its fiery fervour.

For to do so would in equal measure make this gold god smile and cry,
As we solar subjects do our best; to make the most of life we try.
Witness to our great endeavour and haunted brief existence,
Yet our love and joy and heartache; optimism and persistence.

Perhaps the sun is envious of our brief but brightened stay,
And wishes that it too had earned a blessed shorter day.
So worshippers, be sure to spare a reflective thankful thought,
For the gift of all we have by which its sadness has been bought.