“Move him into the sun—
Gently its touch awoke him once,
At home, whispering of fields half-sown.
Always it woke him, even in France,
Until this morning and this snow.
If anything might rouse him now
The kind old sun will know.
Think how it wakes the seeds—
Woke once the clays of a cold star.
Are limbs, so dear-achieved, are sides
Full-nerved, still warm, too hard to stir?
Was it for this the clay grew tall?
—O what made fatuous sunbeams toil
To break earth's sleep at all?”
-A poem written by Wilfred Owen in May 1918 who was a British soldier in WWI. He wrote about the futility of life and its inevitable death and how the warmth of even the sun is useless to bring back a fallen soldier, despite his memory of its infallible hope.
I just found this poem from kane’s recent song “The Kind Old Sun” and I thought it was very pretty!