At the end of the day the sun sets. Everyday it wears a many splendorous coat of the most calamitous colours. The setting sun is hampered in propriety and pomp but never the same robe twice. Oh, setting sun in your dying moments teach me to live.
Inside your fading whisper you live each breath spreading wings of fire across the pale blue heaven. The sky is merely your canvas upon which you spatter your effervescent paints then fade into the prevailing night