The rising sun magnificent
against the scarlet sky
experienced anew each day
penultimate accomplishment;
the final joy to be revealed
when scarlet sky moves into blue
Horizon. No-o-o! ‘Tis not to be!
I look, aghast, as clouds creep in
to ruin this perfect scene.

The promised sunset
fails to be the ultimate ecstasy;
slipped awkwardly on flooded stage;
no grand performance after all
a botched motif, a glitch in plan,
an antiquated scheme?

Let computers run celestial stuff
as they do most conveniences
they’d maximize our waking hours:
no rain until we sleep;
no rinsing down the sun’s display,
no marring of the perfect sky.
The sun would rise, then shine, then set
and get us through the day.