#WritcoPoemPrompt34
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...
Of a sudden, the sun becomes clearer and can be seen from far,
The departure of the source of brightness, our only closest star.
So tired and pale, the night breeze comes blowing up in much fury.
Your perfect orange pigments which reflects in all its glory.