Melancholy Poem by Kwai Chee Low

The colors of afternoon slowly soften
from its bright yellows and dazzling flow,
and shadows grow with the nearing dusk.
Soon nightfall lightens in the starry glow.

Shaking away the weariness of the day,
I rest myself beneath the old sycamore.
Its branches sadly barren of leaves,
pining and yearning for the birds of yore.

The halo of the street lamp grows brighter
as the night deepens and there is only starlight.
Memories of family long gone,
a melancholy in the stillness of night.

The day always ends for the night to begin
as sure as the tides flow in and birds fly.
But why do my tears start to flow
when the sun sets and the moon hangs in the sky?