There is a tale told by the very old folk,
originated long before my seventy years,
that speaks of a sunset blazing red;
a sailor's delight when seen at night,
a sailor's warning, a red sky in the morning.
Over the years, we all seek to refine
the old tales and may be the case with this;
yet to the person who views the evening sky,
a crimson backdrop for the lofty pines,
there is no improvement, an old adage endures!
Majestic the sight that greeted my eyes,
the sun's final gift for the long day;
Fleeting the pleasure, I try to recapture
the image that too soon was gone, replaced
by lighter tones, dulling the sky with gray.
An artist might try to duplicate the sky
with a palette of colors, and a camera
might preserve it for others to enjoy;
Sad the eyes that do not look up and know
the miracle that God's creation can be.
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