Ephemeris...
These are things poets know,
The ache of a setting sun,
The passing of a day,
The ephemeris of the minute details of life.
A flower or a tree,
Magnificent for a moment,
Live their entire lives rooted in the same ground.
The most majestic tempest,
Ended in a day.
Everything is made of mist and sunset,
It just doesn't know it yet.
AquarianM
By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 08/21/2023