Sunset Walking to the marina in the deepening cold, Hear the old bell clang and the chains groan, But do not turn away from the sun. Though the light of the heavens may blind And you may see no more, Do not turn away from the sun. A duck cries, and the waves slap, And the light sinks lower by seconds, But do not... ...Turn away from the sun. Now it has slid away and the bright clouds Follow after in a shower of peach, Fair angels attending their lord With trailing skirts and careless wings, Dripping feathers upon middle-earth. For all our mastery of machines, We have never built a more beatiful art. A lone duck takes off southward, Winging his wide way to the East, Heralding things to come. A flock of songbirds hails the distance, Winding like hopeful petitioners To the gates of heaven at Armageddon. Only when they pass overhead Can their pilgrim prayers be heard. Thus it is all miracles are mysteries, For the miles march on and on. On the other side of all the sky, The heavy moon picks up her skirts To be smothered and trailed By her blue-bonnet ladies In her pink-walled solar To the sailors' delight. We are not out of tune just yet- We still gather 'round to watch In silence, if in poetry and photo, A thing of beauty we have always known. The story rolls on in endless awe, The chorus is somehow still the same, And rock-a-bye sweet baby James. --Megan Morris, meikundayo@yahoo.com