From a time before time, hath not Earth's sun blazed forth.
As if to warm up all of outer space?
Meager portions of its rays seek assignment to our world;
All the rest must simply pass us by
Toward yonder depths so dark.
Even intercepted light rebounds from high atop the clouds;
So resumes an infinite journey undelayed.
Thus from 'way far off, a blue-white speck is seen,
Our minor planet held close
By just another star.
Yet a trace of sunshine's flux
Is caused to tarry for a time.
That's what warms the surface of our globe,
Stirs the winds and lifts great seas into clouds --
All such labors unrepaid.
Life abounds in radiance from our star.
The green groves fix their share by alchemy obscure.
And all manner of fauna rove this place,
Taking nourishment from leafy works.
Some, in turn, are tasted prey.
So doth sunlight ramify to living things -- and dead.
For soon enough all must cease,
Thence, broken down by unseen germs,
Seek in vain to hide their own decay
Amongst the rocks below the ground.
Infesting our small world is a standing, thinking form,
Not satisfied with sunlight's daily ration,
Whose quest for warmth and transport and lighting up
of night
Sucks up a noble treasure and flames it forth
Toward voids beyond the sky.
Behold a wheeled invention, save for which;
Exhaustion of the sungift, vexation of our kind!
Might not otherwise strife's combustions
Reduce the world to cinders? -- and our sun
To just another star?
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