Why ascribe an order to the way,
The amber, gold, or grey ought in the skies,
Appear? In sequence not, do colors stay,
Each hue, when caught, is welcome in our eyes.
No palette, canvas, craves or does ask for,
A shade. Selfish want is a struggle ours.
Pride pales. Like a shadow stealing splendor,
From each hue, pride dulls sparkles and fades stars.
When lights do meet, they give a tingle true,
All splendors have a sender, a maker,
Beckoning us, a call to me and you,
To step beyond the bow, and not waver.
To eyes redeemed the light is what is fair,
The colors stray, it is the light we share.