Sweet Solitude Poem by Kwai Chee Low

Here I am, once again,
witching hour at dead of night,
amid the quiet, deserted streets.
Overhead bright neons wink tirelessly,
like old souls lost in deep conversation.

Street lamps' yellow halos
throw shadows on wet cobblestones,
merry dancers in the swirling mist.
Quietness of night, soothingly abiding,
and a delightful prelude to my thoughts.

Beneath the red maple
I sit, enthralled by a pale full moon.
The silent stillness lulls and enchants,
bewitchingly drift into my reverie,
bitter sweet memories of days gone by.