The Unequal Distribution of Sunset
The spires take a patchwork of blonds,
The pavements, a not-so-shiny copper,
To the harbour go a few drops of bronze,
Even clouds get but a listless amber,
Though when long day is growing old,
The sun, parting, never forgets to rain
On you, on no other, a splurge of gold.
Copyright © Bernard Chan | Year Posted 2019
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