Holding the Sun
The sun is burning in my hand,
my grasp is not so strong.
The tiny, fiery particles
slip through my fingers like a song
from some enchanted gypsy band,
the lyrics frying in the sand.
I try too late to understand
and gather in those flaming rays
consuming all my yesterdays.
Tomorrow's happiness now plays
among the cinders of the ground.
I need to rescue from the blaze
the pieces scattered all around,
sing once more the gypsy song
and hold again my sun.