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Sunset In Florida On The Gulf Of Mexico
The sea is still, a painted glass,
Its breath a hush upon the shore,
As golden light begins to pass
Through skies that blaze and burn no more.
The herons call in liquid cries,
Then vanish in the amber haze,
And clouds drift low like lullabies
Composed in fire for end of days.
A sailboat waits—its canvas furled—
As if it, too, would pause and dream,
While orange melts to rose, then pearl,
And stars awake in quiet gleam.
The palms lean close as if they yearn
To kiss the sun’s last glowing thread—
O heart, how often must we learn
To love the light before it’s fled?
Copyright ©
James Mclain
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