When the sun tells a rock go, shine, be jewels,

A whole nightmare sings as a bright fantasy;

Thus the weeping candle offers her shinning warm

So that the silk of dreams says goodbye in a flame.

The sweet hand is a smile, a deep God-have-mercy,

An eternal blessing by caressing heavens.

So right then cries the sky, weeping of tenderness,

Motherhood saint task of breast-feeding new-borns.

Thanks for your tears, mummy, sweet, strong being

Able to bring new life through welcoming womb.

When the sun speaks to Earth with lightening, sound and so,

He orders light to be anywhere dark was king.

Thus the empire of Night is no more than whisper,

A sweet and cool murmur in the recollection.

Night was deep but deeper is the day on-coming

When hope blossoms in minds and feeds each piece of word.

When the sun tells a rock go, shine, be jewels,

This is no more than hope melting with fantasy;

This is a step beyond to the day of blessings

Where the night down on knees gives her throne to the day…

W.P