Its concrete bones beneath a velvet sheet.
The moon, a silver coin, hangs in the east,
Casting long shadows, cool and discreet.
The wind, a restless child, whispers through trees,
Tugging at branches, rustling leaves with ease.
Each street lamp, a watchful eye,
Reflects the moonlit sky, a silent sigh.
The buildings stand, like giants tall,
Their windows, eyes that watch the city sprawl.
The river, a serpent, flows beneath,
Carrying secrets whispered on the breeze.
The city sleeps, a dream held tight,
But dawn will come, with its golden light.
The beast will wake, its slumber done,
And life will start, beneath the rising sun.