For poets sunsets are a tricky thing
Like roses, kittens or a diamond ring.
They’re a miracle that makes us gasp
But we hold back for to say it is beyond the grasp
of ordinary poets.
“What a sight!” “Oh, look how lovely!”
Pink and gold, come sip your tea.
You poet, you! What makes you so afraid
To say it, write it? Must your fears forever be obeyed
It’s gold or pink, it’s coral, purple, glowing fire
It’s crimson, palest rose, why can’t it inspire
you to write a hymn, a sonnet or to coin a rhyme?
Yes, a poem for a sunset, is it such a crime?
The buildings and the cars, the traffic light
You”ll write of these, but not the herald of the night.
Not daily splendor, miracle goodbye to day
No poet, keep your cool, keep sentiment at bay.
Yes, turn your head and look away or pretty soon
You’ll write of that pale lantern there, the bright half moon.