The Sun

The sun my angel rise on an autumn morning
This is the allegory. Seemingly unchanged
A sea of dark grey shades, an orange tint
This first morning mourning, the light of a firefly
Suspended on that sad height the sun, glows
The word glows with a sad inability to match
Who has set the atmosphere on fire?
I fear the dark fire of the winter which,
I fear all seasonal signs and portents
Be it leaves on the floor, a frozen sheet

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