Lines of beauty, emerging sunset;
sometimes red, pink or yellow;
my eyes feast on them and I taste
peace and love on my tongue
Stronger even than with first light,
I bond with the sun’s last rays;
clouds may crowd its glory but not
the immortality of its poetry
No sunset is ever quite the same
nor any poem on a like theme;
the sky, like the earth, taking pride
in its subtle variations
Better, surely, to share differences
than compete with them?
Each of us would do well to mull
over lines of beauty in a sunset
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