Starry Canal, Golden Trees

Beneath a whirling sky, the bright stars burn high, A stone bridge holds the hush of midnight air. Gold trees rise like fire, yet never sear the eye, Their shadows drift and fade in water’s mirror there. The canal takes every flame and turns it into song, Blue currents braid with amber, slow and deep. A lone small figure stands where silent paths belong, To watch the waking stars while waiting townsfolk sleep.