The singing setting sun

The singing setting sun

refused to sing

joyously pink today;

instead, it sang

melancholy orange,

admitting a shade of purple before black.

The moon and its glitters

chose not to show

before your sight

because it sees

the sun as her lover,

reflecting upon you

as you, a lover to me,

leaving you dark and alone,

striving to be seen

under its sheen.

But

all you’ll see is

me

under the lambency,

sung to ardently by

the singing setting sun.