The sky is silent,
With vibrant clear blue,
Above clouds of many kinds.
Feathering puffs and stretches,
Crisscrossing in layers.
The summer sun gone beyond,
Streaking rays of pale shadow and light,
Crowning the western edge of Earth.
Pastel whites and tinges of greys,
Wait for fleeting purple and pinks,
To color the coming of night.
Yet, silent is the sky,
And surreal the sight.
(7.24.8 The Gift)
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
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