The idol I saw in the sky that day,
Clouds of orange trying to check the sun's way,
But nothing compared to the sun was their might,
For the sun was determined to awaken the night.
Florescent the clouds turned, the sun fulfilling his will,
The beautiful sky above them, a flawless blue fill.
A 'scribbled tornado' cloud displayed its valiance, to no avail,
For he could've been lifted away at the breeze of just a gale.
And all along was the moon in his back seat,
Witnessing the sun's victory, before his retreat.
Such was a painting of the Lord and his grace,
Too busy to see it was nearly every face.
*watching it on the terrace to writing it down in the study room that morning*
Clouds of orange trying to check the sun's way,
But nothing compared to the sun was their might,
For the sun was determined to awaken the night.
Florescent the clouds turned, the sun fulfilling his will,
The beautiful sky above them, a flawless blue fill.
A 'scribbled tornado' cloud displayed its valiance, to no avail,
For he could've been lifted away at the breeze of just a gale.
And all along was the moon in his back seat,
Witnessing the sun's victory, before his retreat.
Such was a painting of the Lord and his grace,
Too busy to see it was nearly every face.
*watching it on the terrace to writing it down in the study room that morning*
