Ever westward, fiery white turns yellow, slowly thru gold and crimson, then to red,

Another day done, the orb descends below the horizon, slumping as if going to bed,

Soft and soothing come the twilight tones, soon pastels lean to darkness overhead,

Then with a sparkle, myriads appear, chasing through the sky as if waiting to be fed,

Bold and strong the Southern Cross stands out clear, like soft butter on dark bread,

Look east at last, the dark recedes morning light starts to bleed like a silver thread,

Above and through the leaves and hills, dawn is now flirting as her rays spread,

Soon the pale old fellow leaps from his bed and to the dim skyline thrusts his head,

All about is drenched in fire, pontifical and fierce old Sol laughs down from overhead.

Ted Belly