The Sky Turns A Scarlet Pastiche Poem by Mark. A Heathcote

Rose-coloured tints at sunset
Above skeletal black trees
Seasonally, they're bloodstained.
As the sky turns a scarlet pastiche.

How shall our hearts remember?
All that was once before their fall?
It's in the framed epicentre of our souls.
That we shall best remember all?

Each roll of film that's still not exposed.
Shall see the light of some new day,
When it ends, your film is enclosed.
Be opened, developed, far, far away.