As the sun ascends its throne, the birds welcome him with trumpets, singing praises of victories. The nights and moon mounting guard for the dark, are overwhelmed by his strengths, as if they were not warned of their impending doom, by the cock crowing on the roof top.
The winds, whispers in fear, as the dew withdraws in its shyness, after giving the grasses showers of freshness. As I watched the glory of the sun, a wave of coolness from the burning vessels in its temples, bakes the earth in its softness. The field is clothed with flowers, as the butterfly fills its drums with nectar, while the ants withdraw to its mountains.
The sun ascends slowly, as he must be a guide to the village duties. He works with strength, so by trick, he awaits his timely defeat, so that the rhythm of the sun can begin again, by the morning.