A GOLDEN ORB OF FIRE

A Sonnet of the Setting Sun (Melancholic Tone)

Each eve, the sun, a golden orb of fire,
Descends the sky, a mournful, fading light,
To bid farewell to day and its desire,
And cloak the world in shadows of the night.

A chariot of gold, it slowly glides,
Across the heavens, a celestial scene,
Dispelling hope as darkness it abides,
And paints the sky with hues of somber green.

With fading rays, it kisses every land,
Inducing slumber, peace, and quiet deep,
And fills the hearts of mortals with its hand,
A gentle touch that makes the weary sleep.

So let us mourn the sun, a heavenly sight,
That brings us peace but steals away the light.