When the sun goes down and blue heaven
Looses its remote and absent look
By the Almighty brush enlivened
As easy as if by a fluke
The West ablaze with crimson torment,
All is transformed. For a brief moment
No longer can we recognize the world
That was so boringly familiar throughout the day…
To my dismay, I can not say what is more real
The tiresome hours of the day
That in their slow pace unreel
The ennui and rehashing play
Of the occurrences well known, or
The briefest moments, when the sun
By will of God horizon’s crown
Allowing boredom in no one.