At Summer Dawn

At dawn, through the open window embrace,

Whispers of weeping voices reach to my bed.

But down the park, to the grove I tread, where

The chorus of insects’ hushes, silence spread.

In the heart of the forest, all I see is the night

Mist amidst the deep and serene hushes.

Returning to my high-rise home and lie in bed,

Once again, I can hear the sounds from the bushes.

(20^th, Jul., 2023, Kinsley Lee)