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Evening
The afternoon spilt gold on the hills,
Now the hills are dreamy eyelids
Fringing the lake's silver eye,
And the evening sky lies still.
For an hour or two this sunset,
Day mingles with the night,
Making beautiful orange-pink banners,
As the dark stretches out the light.
The last birds capture colour on their wings,
All over the world hear voices sing
In praise to the Maker of everything.
Copyright ©
Jeanette Swan
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