Thursday, January 3, 2013

When Angels Rest

Sunset is over.
The fiery passions of the inflamed sun are gone;
The pink and violet clouds, gone.
The faded remains of light rest,
Like a halo,
On the silhouetted hills.
A dreamy quality veils the sky.
The land itself is ephemeral.
Through the hills the highway pours,
Like a stream of molten gold.

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