The sun goes down,
slowly,
in a trance,
hiding behind the clouds,
and then sinking,
into depths unknown,
giving a gold outline,
to the clouds that surround,
and causing an eerie mist,
of yellow,
golden rays,
emanating from the golden ball,
captivating the eye,
the mystique of dusk,
as the sky turns red,
then dark,
those few golden moments,
as the sun retires for the night,
taking with it the golden outline,
taking the golden light.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem