I call you sunshine in the morning
Because when the golden sun rises,
Thoughts of you come to me
Like clouds gathering to give rain.

Throw the curtains open
And watch the sunshine filter in
Through the windows, painting gold
Upon all it touches as it wakes.

Now there is no star in the morning,
But the lonesome golden sun
That brings warmth and heat to us,
Taking the moisture from the Earth.

The ripening of the grape and wheat,
Through special effort, comes from the sun.
It blesses the land with abundance,
Giving hue to the wild darkness.

Sunshine, a growing mass of heat,
When you rise above the horizon,
The wild comes to take some warmth:
Scuttling serpents, straying reptiles.

And after the cold, dreamy night,
You come upon the Earth’s surface
With your grace and power,
Giving hope to all who desire it.

But I call you my sunshine,
For you bring me joy,
Staying like the rising summer sun
To travel back only in the evening.