The orange Sun is obscured by dense clouds

The orange Sun is obscured by dense clouds
bringing a sleep of death. What dreams may come
are foretold by the prophets who have sought
to entertain the time with thoughts of love.

For in that sleep of death what dreams my come
are scattered bits of rhyme. The poet seeks
to entertain the time with thoughts of love,
but is dismayed by vain hope and sadness.

Are scattered bits of rhyme that poets seek
the omens of an ancient imagined calendar?
For the dismay of vain hope and sadness
brings shame to the heavens which delight

in omens. Yet the ancient imagined calendar
returns eternally to those glorious trials
of shame, and the heavens rehearse delight
as the orange Sun is obscured by the clouds.