Woodlands light up, the tree trunks glow red
as rambling rays filter through emerald branches
embroidering leaves with Sunset's crimson thread
All around, the skies erupt with an amber blaze
and the clouds glow in a hot cotton wool haze
As across the far off and fast darkening hills
an unseen hand scores fast fading far horizons
with sharpened and invisible scarlet inked quills
Birds script their black inked V's across the sky
and beneath the shuffling feet of weary travellers
the first of fallen leaves in mouldering muffling lie
and the sun lowers its face before the coming night
in subservience to Sunset and the dying of the light