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Outside the Cliffs Pavilion all is grey

As cars arrive before the evening show;

But just above its roof the end of day

Splendours the horizon in a glow

Of amber sun behind thin banks of cloud

And mist, which heighten chimneys in between

The mud flats of the Thames and the loud

Bursts of apricot, transforming the scene

To captivate the spirit with its power.

As I watched it changes - all is gone,

The grey below turning the evening sour.

Too soon the daily miracle is run.

          Ruskin watched the sunset every eve.

          What better point for starting to believe?

Brian Hick October 2011

©copyright Sally Hick 13.11.23