Lachrymologist

The sun descends behind the lustrous clouds,
Darkness rises; I recall the pleasure.
Envious of the newly lucky crowds,
Bathed in wondrous light that they won’t treasure.

Night flies in, as stygian as a crow,
Until the stars set the night sky ablaze,
They’re beautiful in their own way, although
They can never compare to the sun’s rays.

At its darkest moment, the daylight breaks,
Shimmering beams upon the morning mist,
As they fracture through the light, they create
A tableau of a magnificent tryst.

You brighten my life, simply by being,
I’ll never tire of what I’m seeing.