The Golden Hour


Six O’Clock on the Dot

Layers and layers of sun conspire the hour,
the curtain is down,
the show draws near.

The sun diminished,
but never ever finished,
rushing to save the day.

A faint canopy of light laid out to receive the night,
tree tops brushed with the color of honey,
sweetly dripping,
the sky soaked with soft, golden tones.

A time to treasure,
Silence and Peace beyond any single pleasure,
Cares, no more
Time to enter,
open the door.

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