Sunflowers

Every sunrise the sunflowers open their arms
Calling, beckoning at the golden sun
Hoping the sun waves or winks back
But the sun just slides along
Too proud to care at the fragile flowers.
At sunset the moon consoles the sunflowers
But what can console a tormented soul
Except the very thing that torments it –
By sunrise the hopeless dance
Is played all over again
With the hum of a wailing soul!