Canopy

A twig with withered leaves
is resting on a weathered bench
beneath the tree that grieves
and tries with rigid limbs to clench
a family begun to sprout
but they're too busy branching out.

The tired sun begins to sink
as ruddy as a drunkard's nose
which turns the wispy clouds a pink
that gloriously glows
as heaven's mercy surely must
above this world of woeful lust.