To The Sun Poem by David Smart

To the Sun

Across the vale I see the setting sun:
The clouds are touched with golden flecks of fire
And far aloft a criss-cross web is spun
By shining vessels full of seats for hire.
For now these silver ships of air fly high
And span the globe while we below them sleep.
To those in seats reclined, a lullaby
Is sung by whisp'ring jets on wings that leap
From East to West or West to East so fast
That days are gained or days are lost to those
Who ride these silver ships through spaces vast
And think of deals to do or deals to close.

But do they see the glory of the sun
That sheds it's golden beams on everyone?