The long, bright string of the sunset lingers
The evidence of God's golden fingers
The push and pull of his amber needle
The sound of his steady, windy treadle.
Dotted with stitches, the evening sky
Spreads out with the breath of his soothing sigh
And he spreads out the blanket across his knees
Checking the angle of each shade-tree.
Then, with a final pull of the thread
Gently he eases the heavens to bed
Knotting the sun so she's snuffed from the hills
And knitting the color of moon on the rills.
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