The Sunset

The Sunset

As sunlight darkens, the sky turns into a material,
Streaked with tones of golden, rose, and fire.
The sun, in its lofty, slow drop,
Lays out a representation of the day's last ensemble.

Brilliant beams, once furious, presently delicately blur,
Relaxing the world in nightfall's hug.
Mists, when surging, presently fragile ribbon,
Get the tones in a tranquil motorcade.

The skyline, a line of blazing red,
Holds the sun in its conclusive, transient grasp.
A heavenly coal on the edge of night,
As shadows stretch and the day starts to slip.

Birds coast toward home in the cooling air,
Their outlines scratched against a material brilliant.
The world stops in the quiet nightfall,
Washed in the delicate, blurring light.

The sun plunges low, a brilliant coin in a pocket,
Getting the day into its daily chest.
Stars stir in the ink of sky's blanket,
To crown the night in their delicate zing.

Thus, watch the nightfall with a calm heart,
For in its magnificence lies a delicate goodbye.
A commitment of day break, a resurrection of light,
In the blurring tones where dreams stay.

In the quiet of the infringing night,
Allow the dusk's wonder to relieve your spirit.
For as the sun withdraws, it leaves a follow,
A murmured update that everything is entirety.