I cursed the scorching sun till it set,
And the plain flower till it withered.
I cursed the pale moon till it faded;
And everything worthless till nothing's left.
I mourned for the mighty sun set for the day,
And for the lovely flower that soon withered.
I mourned for the tranquil moon that faded away...
And everything worthy I've lost.
For the sun rises every other day,
And flowers bloom every spring season..
The moon emerges grand every night,
I believe; "What goes around, comes around."