The sky, a furnace, roared and spat its fire,
A crimson rage, consuming day's desire.
Orange bled to violet, gold to gray,
A final, furious kiss before the fray
Of night descended, swallowing the light,
And left the weary world to dream in night.

But shadows held a secret, deep and low,
A promise whispering of what would grow.
For even darkness knows the dawn's decree,
And waits expectant for the sun to flee
Its slumbering hold, and paint the world anew,
With hues more vibrant, cleaner, brighter, true.

And then, it happened. First a subtle blush,
A painter's touch upon the morning hush.
Rose petals scattered on the eastern rim,
A promise whispered, soft and gentle hymn.
The clouds, like angels, bathed in pearly grace,
Reflected glory on the sleeping space.

Then gold erupted, chasing night away,
A symphony of colors in the bay.
The world awakened, stretching, yawning wide,
To greet the sunrise, banishing all pride.
Each leaf, a jewel, reflecting heaven's gleam,
A living canvas, born from a sweet dream.

The birdsong soared, a chorus to the sun,
Life pulsed anew, the victory was won.
From blazing sunset, to this perfect birth,
A testament to beauty on the earth.
A glorious awakening, serene and bold,
A story in the colors to be told.