The sun disappears behind clouds,
Not to be seen till the next morn,
Departing behind a safety blanket of cotton,
Almost afraid of its own heat.
How can we fight back,
Against this blatant theft of a sunset?
In the gloom, something wakes us again,
The smell of rain and soil,
Makeshift dewdrops delicately hanging from deep green leaves,
Freshness comparable only to the dawn of tomorrow.
We choose to embrace a new day,
In our minds me imagine a second sunrise.