A Poem for the Sun

The sun is a star

just like the rest

but no one pays attention

even though it's the brightest

They write of the moon

and the stars of the night

but the sun is ignored 

and while the trees dance

and the wind howls

but the sun is alone

as it watches and waits

it waits 

and it waits

and it waits

but no one says a thing

not a word is written

and then it sighs

and sinks down

and that's when they notice

they write of the colors 

and the warmth

all stop and watch

and stare in awe 

but they only noticed

when it was gone

Reviews

[angel]

I read this lovely poem you wrote, but must point out something (I am incredibly obsessive, picky, and exacting--sorry)--and that part of myself made me write this. I apologize for this, but must tell you that while the moon and the stars have admittedly received much more coverage, you are in good company with poems to the sun.
Robert Louis Stevenson--the fellow that wrote TREASURE ISLAND--in case any reading this do not recognize the name...wrote this:

SUMMER SUN

Great is the sun, and wide he goes
Through empty heaven without repose;
And in the blue and glowing days
More thick than rain he showers his rays.

Though closer still the blinds we pull
To keep the shady parlour cool,
Yet he will find a chink or two
To slip his golden fingers through.

The dusty attic spider-clad,
He, through the keyhole, maketh glad;
And through the broken edge of tiles,
Into the laddered hay-loft smiles.

Meantime his golden face around
He bares to all the garden ground,
And sheds a warm and glittering look
Among the ivy’s inmost nook.

You're right, though. There are not enough.
Thank you for another!