Analysis of Torching the clouds.

The sun torched its way across the clouds,
And onward across the greying mountains,
Smoothing the fields and forests with gay heights, embering golden crosses into the turquoise morning.
The emitting ball danced atop the horizon
While spruse trees blonde into feathered flakes of glory,
Beams dapple, fire and wave their blessings across our eyes 'till we can open them no more, its aura yealding to peach hues,
Dancing meadows allowed our blinded souls through.
Baby sheens, orbs of light, explosions of colours new, framed with aeroplanes rows and columns, rockets bare their futuristic powers.