In the heart of spring, where chlorophyll thrives,
Under the sun's gaze, life unfurls and strives.
Yet, in its brilliance, a guilt does dwell,
A suffering sunshine, a silent yell.

The sun, in its duty, gives life its hue,
Yet, feels the guilt of the scorching brew.
It sees the wilt, the wither, the weak,
In its radiant presence, the future bleak.

Yet, hope springs eternal in nature's breast,
In cycles of life, in death, and rest.
The sun's guilt is but a fleeting pain,
For with each dawn, life begins again.

So, let not the sunshine bear the guilt,
In its warmth, life's tapestry is quilt.