Over Pine Island

The monochrome of snow covered fields

Narrows to the horizon and yields

To the setting sun invading the sky

Ineffable light so golden it tries

To scoop all the gold from Earth,

But it is transmogrified onion dirt.

And quickly sun-glow applies

Masterful brush strokes across the sky.

A Celestine, Fra Angelica blue,

An absolutely incredible hue

Is dispersed in one great leap

As day retires into the golden sheet.

Over these prosaic onion fields,

The sun sets a phalanx of golden shields.

A star’s celestial labor is not lost,

Nor does a great splendor surmise the cost.

Above cold acres of land

A finale, sky pink takes final command.

Francine DeFere Tyler, Warwick