stunning sunset
¶ 1
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how shall I paint thee, in prose?
for the artist’s palette has already spilled into the sky
and their deft strokes
have dabbed and daubed at will;
the colours have run
and jumped
with joy
surfing the woolly waves –
and I guess it’s the clouds
that cause the diffusion;
¶ 2
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the colour card overrunneth –
nay, dribbles into each other
à la Best and Marsh
even though on the same team
aye, a poet’s dream;
reds and yellows and creams meld
into mellow stratas
and pinks and blues
of many hues
weave
into what must be God’s duvet
¶ 3
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so how shall I compare thee?
to a rose?
no, for it doesn’t fill the horizon
to a rainbow?
no, too regimented in formation
to a football kit then?
no, too staid by comparison
even as garish as they may appear
when first revealed
out on the field
¶ 4
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so I’ll have to lay down my pen
and just admire…
¶ 5
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and that great ball of fire
dropping low
looks like it might just be within reach
and for a shot like a peach
I might just swivel
and by golly
catch it on the volley!
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