Can you claim
to have seen
the pinks and reds
of the setting sun
as it splashes
its radiant glow
upon the silver-lined
scattered across
the sapphire skies?
It is as if
the sun paints masterpiece
after masterpiece
for the moon
even though
she will never see him
in awe
of her work;

is that not
the very essence
of love?


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