A Beckoning Transition
That evening hour, like some winsome flower, a special time of every day,
The sun goes down, without a frown, for it has its last moments to display.
Beautiful sunscapes, over the landscapes, as the sky erupts in colors rare,
It's a time well spent, is as heaven sent, as every portrait painted is so fair.
Sun's light filters, while no plant wilters, when each receives their daily baths,
Green trees, their bowing leaves, eagerly await sun's rays, with open mouths.
Every flower, on petals to shower, precious sunbeams all grant the gift of life,
Last rays spreading, so sharp are shredding, seeming to cut as blades of knife.
Dewdrops falling, all enthralling, their wetness cooling, before darkness is to fall,
Nightbirds singing, sweet sounds are ringing, before nighttime shadows do sprawl.
A horizon is still beckoning, in this evening's transition, fast, the sun is now gone,
As the moon's beams, over all it seems, dances in the sky at last, and is all alone.
Magic casts it spell, of the sun's supremacy, very well, as all wait at heaven's gate,
No allusion, nor pretending, provides this enraptured ending, now to punctuate.
A life inspiring closure, marvelous exposure, and is there for all who wish to see.
God's most gifting presence, in such brightly lit effervescence, is of his love to be.