Soft moonlight fades into good morning beams of ecstasy
Drawing closed the curtains
I must hide from the after-hour sun
Biddings of good morrow cascade
In tireless freefall they flow

But I have built a dam to keep the fields moist
For I am something like agriculture
Parched by the heat and brightness
My green skin awash in the new-day sun
I am but wilted leaves

So as the sunlight beats at my thin external covering
This scorching becomes too much
Relief is sought from heights above
To block this, the vulnerable earth
From the bright, death, Creator