The Sun

A round ball of fire

He is always on the run

Moving from place to place

He is our Sun

In spring, he is so kind

With a very fresh mind

He is not sad or angry with us

So there's no reason to fuss

In summer, he shines like an orange

Standing smartly over the range

As usual very neat and fair

But very hard to bear

In monsoon he has to hide

As the rain can carry him in her tide

He hides behind a cloud

So that he may not be found

In winter, days are bitter

As the moon enjoys playing in the night

The sun loses his playtime

It is such a sad sight