Singapore

Tall grasses waver in the scrub, whispering softly in the breeze;
trees with coconut eyes shake their green plaited hair:
sweet mists are drifting o’er the grassy heights;
the crickets are now singing and the birds do call for night to fall.
Red lights are winking in the twilight haze
and lamps are flickering on ’mid the plantation’s trees;
faint jewels stab the darkening purple canopy of the Sun’s now dying empire;
such is my present view of life around:
this is Singapore
and this I surely love.