Behold the ruby up over the mountains, rays as red as the rose;
A disc of claret which sees through the clouds, striking awe in the hearts which behold.
The clouds thus suffused with the palest orange, as the mists below are morose,
While along their keen edges of cotton they glint for a moment with ephemeral skins of gold.
The chorus begins; the orchestra, conducted by rays of Dawn;
Love songs carried by winds by their very burdens thus perfumed.
While pools of dew grown under the moon are now under light sipped by fawns,
The claret rises and sparkles, coruscates, cotton clouds subsume.
Purple arms embrace the morning, the flowers unfurl their blooms.
The indigo sky now moves into violet, anticipating blues and greens.
The sky a silken sheet dyed teal, the clouds a dusty pink
Morass of colour, the sky is dawn's for a season, and
For the moment at least, beauty rules and reigns supreme.
The world of man is for a moment Her domain, the ruby rays
Her fingertips, to coax morning glories into bloom, and roses
To let rise into the air Her incense which is the wind perfumed.
Azura, Queen of the Dusk and Dawn.
A torturing angel, despotic saint, what think You of man?
To provide some few fleeting moments of beauty so that they may fawn
Over your works, and give you their high praise? However can
You love them so, if indeed You wish to make them beg
Every morning for You to show Your face, the golden dawn?
Would You drain their desperate worship down to dregs,
Azura, Queen of the Dusk and Dawn?