~ That ball of fire ~

That ball of fire,

Wandering in the sky,

By the noon its heat,

by the fall it's art.

It moves ahead,

From the head to horizon,

Blending with hue,

With every inch of move.

And then it starts,

The dance of the beauty,

Majesticity of creator,

And the dream of an artist.

With every move,

Making it more beautiful,

Adding a tint of yellow,

To mark the beginning.

It moves further down,

Adding pure to the tint,

And now we see the rim,

When the tones take over.

Adding to the beauty,

Is a drop of orange,

And further down it goes,

Adding pure to the plane.

A ball of orange,

Far near the horizon,

Further enhances to shades,

A wale to hide its beauty.

Jealous of me,

Staring at the beauty,

I see those clouds,

Like scattered sands.

As the time pass,

I try to convince them,

And yes, they let me-

To have a final glance.

By the time its half,

And it's more pure now,

And thanking HIM for this,

The most beautiful Sunset.