“The sun is setting, the skies looking like a painting, with so much of the colour of red used, well, it’s gorgeous so who am I to complain?” Gun Roswell

“The sky is on fire, the sky is on fire!”

The peasant from the ancient times shouted
As the red clouds into the skies sprouted
Running as fast as he could
Before the skies on him fall would

Simply out of fear
Not knowing of the beauty so near
Shivering in his cellar
Like an old yeller

Some hundreds years later
Not a sunset hater
Eagerly awaiting
A sunset most breathtaking