Sometimes I feel as battered as the moon
And as cold, as alone, and as old.
Always in orbit, turning, yearning
My face towards yours,
You the Earth, core of my gravity.
Sometimes I am Saturn
And you run rings round me.
Sometimes you are angry red Mars
And I take so long to reach you
And stumble when I get there.
Mostly you are the sun
And when we build towers or hunt tigers
For hours and hours, or roll gingerbread,
I warm my cold, old, battered self
In your burning, burning brightness.