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In the morning first the sun bows, then slow

In the morning first the sun bows, then slowly wraps itself around the wheel, bathes in the sea of ​​poetry for a while, the call comes to the city of sleep as soon as the day dawns, then with the evening all hope is gone, again the night light counts in a friendless lonely life.
In the morning first the sun bows, then slowly wraps itself around the wheel, bathes in the sea of ​​poetry for a while, the call comes to the city of sleep as soon as the day dawns, then with the evening all hope is gone, again the night light counts in a friendless lonely life.
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