Sunset Poem by Arthur Bayldon
Sunset
The weary wind is slumbering on the wing:
Leaping from out meek twilight's purpling blue
Burns the proud star of eve as though it knew
It was the big king jewel quivering
On the black turban of advancing night.
In the dim west the soldiers of the sun
Strike all their royal colours one by one,
Reluctantly surrender every height.
What a stunning portrayal of the Sunset and the flight of imagery?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
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5/10/2024 6:09:43 PM # 1.0.0.1119
Beautiful flow of imagery