The Alchemic Hue - a sonnet

Olive Trees with yellow sky and sun, Vincent van Gogh

And so these long days shift; shadows slowly

Change their angles; the westering sun, gold

And burning, sinking toward the sea, lowly

In its attitude, like a humble old

Pilgrim near the end of his long wandering,

Bent beneath the weight of wisdom gleaned

From all his journeying and pondering

On what he's done (and not done), heard, and seen.

This is the season of alchemic hue;

The days begin to shorten and grow cold,

And we feel that what the poet said is true:

Gold really is the hardest hue to hold.

But still we try, and like the pilgrim bent,

Are weighted by the goodness God has sent.