The blue around the setting moon
Soft and peacock - gone too soon
The furnace sun of this late June
Chases night - will be its doom
But birds are cheerfully singing tunes.

Marble scuttles - fearful orb
She knows the Sun to be her lord
Exiting, as it were, toward
The far horizon ... She's absorbed.

The Suns small victory recognized
By the blush of eastern skies
They are distant - far and high
They don't ever question why.

Don't think it strange... It isn't odd

It's all been arranged by God.