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Literature Text
The sky is burning
Blue stained with silken flame
Clouds floating above all
Threaded with gold
A ball of bright fire
cris-crossed with black wire
Strung between black houses
On a black street
And black birds
Are landing in black trees
Rustling black leaves
Clutching black branches
with black feet
And the white moon is rising
Over a world of grey
As the fire is sinking
Oh how silent does it rise
The sun is so pretty when it dies
Blue stained with silken flame
Clouds floating above all
Threaded with gold
A ball of bright fire
cris-crossed with black wire
Strung between black houses
On a black street
And black birds
Are landing in black trees
Rustling black leaves
Clutching black branches
with black feet
And the white moon is rising
Over a world of grey
As the fire is sinking
Oh how silent does it rise
The sun is so pretty when it dies
looking out my window while talking to Matthordika i observed 'the sun is so pretty when it dies'. he said i should use that line before he did, so here it is. a sunset in the city.
© 2012 - 2024 Acinonyx-rex
Comments21
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It beautifully describes dusk... This is a perfect bitter-sweet poem...