Every evening as the sun goes down,
A priceless painting adorns the sky,
I lie down on the earth below,
Gazing at the pretty sight above.
A bright, golden yellow setting,
Streaked by hues of crimson and magenta,
Have black silhouettes of tired birds.
Flying back to their homes after a long day.
The myriad of shades slowly fades,
As the sun sinks further beneath the horizon,
The sky is now painted with streaks of violet,
Possessing tiny, intermittent twinkling stars.
The air is suddenly filled with a cool breeze,
That adds a swirl of galaxies to the canvas;
‘Tis a visual treat I always enjoy,
Which no artist can ever replicate.
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