Don’t call me the seductive Sun,
That stretches out to burn every flower chosen,
Burning itself out, before darkness spreads her hair,
All its charms it has spun.
Don’t call me the stealthily staking Moon,
With her clouded memory reigns bright solitary,
In lunar milky glow her blemishes show,
Her imperfections enhance her beauty.
Don’t call me that denounced outcaste Star,
Seeking her beau, like a flash of forgotten dew,
Under the aegis of what gods from a universe afar
She diligently tries to reach out to you.
Don’t compare me to the passing spring,
That throws fleeting banquets on the run,
Lightning
