Death of the Sun

Turn your back to the setting sun and see, golden rays of dying light, dancing glee. Leaves flashing silver, from the gentle wind; shifting shadows, playing games with lights blend. Heat on my back; orange and red paints the sky. In sweeping raids the Purple Martins, fly. I cannot watch the death of the sun, with sounds of joy from beasts; light will always shun. As darkness rides in to take command; lights dying grasp an ovation to demand. Creatures of light, run to cower away, Hiding in silence, till break of day. Solar orbs last dying might, sends power to light the night.