Morning sun of unchained light, bountiful is your fruit of illuminated grace. May the warrior in you remain noble, guide us safely through our day. May the birdsongs woven through your golden hair never unsing themselves to ash. The steadfast and patient hours that shepherd you across the sky, may they never become our stone-hearted assassin. As for your velocity of solace, may it lead us to a restful place. So come day’s end, when we are lullabied by the moon-tuned night, we can all sleep a little easier.