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.