Changing of the Guard
The sun, sliding over the hill
Tickles the clouds with his long arms
As he stretches before going to bed.
As he yawns, color flashes through his mouth
And his tongue paints the sky with golds and reds.
The animals come to say goodnight
As he slips behind the mountains.
The moon comes out to take his place as watchman.
He tucks in the sun with a starry blanket
And watches over Earth for the night.
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