When the sun sets,
A certain way,
The light remains,
Although the source of it
Is sloŵly extinguished.
And where the clouds
Bank and congregate,
It is as if someone
Has taken a paintbrush
And lazily dragged
À ribbon of tangerine
Across the sky.
© Text Caro Ness 2016
Photo: www.twicopy.com
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