The city is on fire,
On the vermilion backdrop
The last burning spire
Nests an angel on its top.
The roofs are set ablaze,
The rivers coloured blood,
The Sun’s amazing grace
Is dying in a flood.
The metal of the chimneys
Reflects the golden star’s light;
As a sign of forgiveness
The crests are sparkling snow-white.
And then the day is ending,
Gold leaf is growing crimson.
The sky is only sending
Last rays, becoming damson.
And on the world’s peak point
The golden cross is flaming;
To the Sun it is adjoined,
Into the skies it's aiming.
That cross is last to redden,
The darkness it is fending,
But the only spark from heavens
Is slowly fading… fading…
The Sunset
© Copyright: Белая Маска, 2010
Свидетельство о публикации №110101808337
Свидетельство о публикации №110101808337
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