The Auburn Sun Drifted Down, Slowly-Hid. Poem by Michael Gale

The auburn sun drifted and lowered behind the forested, mountain peak...
Rustic blazing so beautified, as we now might read or speak.

Such beauty stagnates the breath...
Seemingly as in death.

Leaves us alone in a silenced speech...
Vulnerable as a rotting peach.

Were we blind to all it's beauty? ...
Were we dumb to our, inner duty?

Why weren't we awed...
Were our feelings numb, or frozen-not thawed?

Beauty should be read and appreciated, beyond all scope...
Must we blindly-remain a stupid and ignorant dope?

A lone pine needle stuck, to the earthly dirt...
Fallen, abandoned, mutely hurt.

Nothing heard...
Not even, by a squirrel, or bird.