Rhyme

A poem.

The setting sun has darkened orange;
Soon the vale will bathe in silver.
Tomorrow, in the shade of Blorenge,
I shall find a newborn chilver.

In a future winter month,
The sun will sink; the sky will purple.
A second time, a trillionth,
A chilver’s chilver first will hirple.

Images from Charlene Malson, via Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/charlenemalson/