Solar

Solar whispers at dawn’s first light,
A golden thread that weaves the day,
It paints the hills in quiet hue,
And turns the river’s flow to sway.

In fields of barley, sun‑kissed ears,
The panels gleam like still‑lit lakes,
Harnessing the quiet blaze
That crowns the sky with steady stakes.

When evening drapes its violet shawl,
The stored glow lingers soft and warm,
A gentle promise, ever‑true,
That night will yield to sunrise’s charm.

So let us turn our faces up,
To drink the sun’s benevolent grace,
And let its steady, British light
Guide us forward, step by step, in place.