Scornful Sun

To whom much is given,

much is required.

To the smiling sun far above the clouds,

his purse is full of beams of light,

hes given much,

but not required so,

for he sleeps and slumbers in the sky all day,

when night falls and dusk is come,

he sleeps again.

 

The man in the fields is sweaty and sore,

he toils and moans for the plants to grow,

and yet he is given none,

so hazardous is his work,

he cries alone as the sun sleeps,

its ears tuned out to the farmers tears.

 

Oh jealous, scornful sun,

your blessings are numerous,

but your givings are none.

Reviews

[Naomi Montana Walsh]

well done..I like this one..too whom much is given.. always an interesting thought.. never thought of it in regards to the sun..I am a rain person myself.. sunny hot days.. generally don't give me much ..the poem is great I like it..creative and new.

[funeralmoon]

holy crap.. this is good im going to write a matching poem about the moon :)))