Not an inane sun

The sun that shines overhead,
I look and hold in my stead;
A looming ball of fire and ice,
Touches elephants and even the mice;
Its rays hold the glory of an afternoon,
Its love for earth is ten times the moon's;
The sun calls me onward as i sit and dream
A lovely tale of conquering it and being queen;
I admire it from afar,
Does the sun know,
That i exist, a lass
Who calls out its glorious name,
Dear sun you are forever the same;
Come cloud, come rain,
Come the mundane,
Nothing the sun bestows
Can be inane.