At the edge of the furthest mountain,
Between the valley and the lazy river,
Beyond the edge of the scented meadow,

I can see the hues painted by the setting sun
Fire reds painted like the flames of a winter fire,
Sky's the color of a dark corridor at the end of a hall,

Oranges like the fruit,
The ocean reflects your sunset like a mirror one that will never just quite give you the feelings of seeing it for yourself.

© jewelwritespoetry