Gloriously wasteful, O my Lord, art thou!

Sunset faints after sunset into the night,
Splendorously dying from thy window-sill–
For ever. Sad our poverty doth bow
Before the riches of thy making might:
Sweep from thy space thy systems at thy will–
In thee the sun sets every sunset still.

GM

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musician, videographer, new media specialist, producer, imaginator

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