Every day He paints the skies
In different colours
For us to admire if we have the eye to
Hues In blue and purple and white and pink and orange and refs
Everyday a brand new canvas
For us to behold
No arrogance or pride on his part
Just another days work
He rises white hot
Then descends with a crimson sigh
Every morning he stretches out with ruby tinges
Pinks and purples swirl through the blue
He rises steadily white hot blinding searing above the clouds at noon
Then he plunges with a crimson sigh
Onto his inky bed among the stars
Draws in his bronzed arms and rests
Refreshed he rises,
Blushing on top toes
to kiss the clouds again.
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