So strange is
 that many a brilliant day
 will be consumed with the fire of sunset,

Set alight to burn so swiftly
all that was alive in day

all turned to ashen grey-gold and charcoal of a thickening black-sooted sight

The now-sprinkled with a trillion flying embers from distant stars turns
into that might so inky black behind.

Slow-spinning pixie dust embers do finally settle then
disappear as dust into ground when sight clears to light fading-once-black.

Here is where it starts, once more, for another round:

The day, the burn, the embers, the clear.
And again, and again repeats until infinty.

– Moon Doogas

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