Reflected in the Dying Sun

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Reflected on the autumn water,
lays the orange lazed dusk,
the rosy water sighing
against the Merrimack and her companion,
the creaking smooth edged oars,
dipping with a surface of a the dreaming world,
beyond the lengthy cool abyss waves,
the high climbing oaks and maple’s sway,
Upon the dying sun rays
dance the shadows of the world around,
when past the rising line of nature,
shines a whole other waking land.

I haven’t for a second wished,
to be the shadows of the sun.
For they know nie but darkness,
always imprisoned and hidden away
or the endless lazy dusk high overhead.
Closed in an open expanse of
untouchable red, orange and pink,
but in good time I’d not mind,
to be the dying sun on the hilltop.
My own horizon, my own day,
I would guard the land with my light.
Casting away the shadows until the dusk returns.

Though if the dying sun wished solitude,
I would consider to be the cool abyss.
To carry the Merrimack along my back,
down my spine and to her home.
Always alone and fading in my lower lands.
The hissing sand at my depths soft,
and concealing my secrets forever within.





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