Pure subtlety has ne��er before been seen,
With deep whites and pale crimsons as its sheen,
Opens glorious, its morning greeting,
Yet when darkness comes, its wings - fleeting.
O pious sun, creation and rebirth,
Which underwater, sleeps, in restful mirth,
And up from Chaos rose, wholly divine,
And unfurled from Nun its Saintly design.
Be it Ra or child-like Atum who strode,
With gentle steps onto single shored road,
And these Lotus petals, precious and mute,
Clothed them at night in embracing repute.