John Smith's

Bright the evening sky, as sun slowly descends into its horizon grave,
shadows long, whispers clear.
Light fluffy clouds hang on a sea of blue like the crest of a wave,
a slight breeze arouses the fragrance of the evening air,
as the business of the day settles down everywhere.

Further still the blazing orb, gradually, slowly, sinks lower,
a golden cloak stretches across the horizon.
The lush green trees, darkened against the amber blaze,
stand majestic, natures citadels,
as the sun bids the day a final ‘farewell’.

Then, it slipped from view, hiding for a short while, its life and light,
The golden canopy had silently, slowly, morphed into pink, purple and red.
Momentarily I stood, breathing in the incense of the twilight night.
Before turning, then like the sun, returned home to bed.
To lay down musing on the sunset, now firmly out of sight.

And I wondered just how many sunsets I have left to view,
before the horizon beckons me to hide my dimming aura
and my azure blue fades to muted shades of lesser brightness. 
Then will the citadels I have built, darken or stand awhile as true,
Until, like the sun, I rise again to life anew.