Like the rising of the sun in all hues,
In the morning people are born anew;
Beautiful violet, orange, yellow, red,
It’s the trade of life, living for the dead.
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Yet there’s a sad fact about human life,
Full of love but they’re often filled with strife.
They come so quick but then die all too soon
As if it were the setting of the moon.
But don’t look down be on the bright side now,
The middle of life is a radiant plow.
Cutting straight and pure, defiant to faze,
It’s unfailed as its sun shines through the haze.