If the sunset could speak

If the sunset could speak I’m sure it would say:

‘Here i am, the end result of a day’s effort.
I am the sum of all the light that goes before,
gathered together by me with occasional rays
breaking forth as I stuff it,
screaming and clamoring,
into the box named night.

I am the dawn that wakes the day world
and starts the birds singing,
sending quiet little
night creatures into burrows and nests
to sleep until their time is come again.

I am the light of the day
telling trees to grow and plants to sprout
slipping through leaves to tickle the
freckles of a red haired child with
upturned face.

I am late afternoon green-gold that
paints the world in exquisite beauty and
reaches towards the feet of an elderly couple
sipping lemonade on a porch,
long light stretching towards but not quit meeting
reflected in hands accustomed to resting on the same table.

When you consider all that I have done
can you not see why I must weep such brilliant color?’


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