Chiaroscuro Desolato Poem by Gregory Bell

Golden light, or is it amber light
Shelters me from burning of the sun
How delightful is this golden light!

With petals of the rose once fragrant, bright
I wake to find my pillow overrun
In golden light, or is it amber light?

Tired rose, tired petals in the dun alight
I rise to see the sky is hung with smoke
How delightful was this golden light.

Ten thousand acres burning to affright
Ten million people trembling, undone
Golden light, or amber light that writhes

Five hundred thousand acres charred to blight
Ninety thousand on the run flee their homes
But yet delightful was this golden light

With endless desolation, loss of life
Apocalypse in Paradise has spun
Golden light from writhing amber night
How dire that fool's gold light