Sunrest
Sun has chased moon, East to West, past the poles.
While warring thermals, cause thunder to roll.
Evening breeze smells of salt, from a dry lake bed.
Sky shimmers aquamarine, tinged in streaks of red.
Rugged peaks, wind tortured, stand in stark relief.
As last rays of sun, slip away, like a thief.
Long, shadows grow, upon ground, ancient dust.
Caressing, one last time, this land with gentle touch.
For the contest: A Poesy any theme
Sponsored by Brian Strand
Placement: 1st
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