Dying Sun

I will tell you the colours of the dying sun,
A pallette laden with bright orange, umber and bloody pink
Spread thickly across a threadbare canvas of cloud and haze.
For a brief instant, every golden age is recalled and
The world looks old and tired, yet content.
Then vivid crimson, as though it were bleeding to death,
Instead of merely moving on.
It expires and leaves only tattered grey mourning shrouds
To dress the darkening sky.