Blitar's Nocturne
The sun descends, a fiery orb,
Painting the sky with hues of gold,
As twilight falls, a gentle curve,
On Blitar's streets, a story told.
The city wakes, a gentle sigh,
From slumber deep, a soft refrain,
A thousand lights begin to fly,
Across the canvas, night's domain.
The air is cool, a gentle breeze,
Whispers secrets through the trees,
A symphony of rustling leaves,
A lullaby for those at ease.
The ancient mosque, a silhouette,
Against the sky, a beacon bright,
Its minaret, a silhouette,
Guiding souls through darkest night.
The bustling market, now at rest,
Its vendors gone, their wares concealed,
A quiet peace, a welcome guest,
As shadows dance, no longer revealed.
The old town square, a tranquil space,
Where history whispers in the breeze,
A monument to time and grace,
A timeless beauty, one can seize.
The river flows, a silver thread,
Reflecting stars, a cosmic dance,
A gentle murmur, softly said,
A lullaby, a sweet trance.
The city sleeps, a tranquil dream,
Beneath the stars, a cosmic show,
A peaceful haven, it would seem,
Where dreams take flight, and spirits grow.
Blitar's night, a tapestry,
Woven with light and shadows deep,
A symphony of mystery,
Where secrets sleep, and stories keep.
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