New Age

Tilting my head back,
I Look up into the pale and dying sun,
A remnant of its former self,
I muse and cast my mind
back to when the world was young,
And the orb still strong and eager,
Effortlessly bridging the depths of space,
To give us warmth as if only yards removed.
But the eons have been harsh on you,
Old friend,
And now your life is almost spent.
I hate to see you go, but our world needs
More to prosper,
So I must ask the question:
When will the new sun rise?
Who will bring it?