Randy Hoehn


I pause and wonder at the skies,
All shades of bronze and pink,
And from the sub, soft streamers rise
While resting on the brink.

Sinking, sinking, slowly waning;
A paling masterpiece!
Aura tattered, colors draining;
Remains of golden fleece.

The disk is near-concealed now
And soon it will be dark.
I barely ken horizon’s brow
Beneath the crimson arc.

A stillness falls upon the strand;
The breath of nature hushed.
Shadows creeping o’er the land
In somber shades are brushed.

Fading, fading, slowly going
Like a dying ember.
Glory dimming; darkness growing.
Sunset in September.