In the radiance of flowing gold that spills across the sky, the Sun rises.
As The king of birds leaves the place of his sleep, like the morning haze rising in the misty waves emanating from the dew that moistens the earth. Its plumage shimmers with iridescent tints under the warm light of the pinkish palette of the morning dawn.
The sun extends its wings from end to end of its domain. It glides smoothly over the valleys, listening to the songs coming from the workers in the fields. It soars higher and higher and teases the tops of the mountains with light and elusive touches of the tips of Golden feathers, to the highest of them.
Bees scatter across the sky, following the Sun as it arcs toward the Western horizon. From the reddish-brown fields and green valleys, from the sun-bleached shores covered with a scattering of diamond grains, and the light-filled paths that cross like veins
Mountains and rivers, bypassing the border,
Where the sky is only a festive garment
God and goddess.
The sun calls all the winged family
From horizon to horizon
Sing with all your voices,
To praise Lita!