It's a Hit

I note December's beveled sun
And how his beams across the land
Shoot out as if by angel gun
Empowered with a halo band,
Like Heaven's Tommy gun of light,
Whose golden bullets blasting by
Are only photons within sight
Of my discerning mortal eye.
And though I've seen such sights before,
Due to Earth axis and its tilt,
I'll always crave a little more
Of blue skies with autumnal gilt;
Only seen when it doesn't rain
And so a forecast should be seen
To find out when the clouds will drain
Their soggy nimbostratus spleen;
Reason enough to scan the sky
When gangster Sol goes speeding by!