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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