The Cranes of Singapore

Where they came from,
Most don’t have a clue.
Different colors different forms,
Some say they swim, some flew?

Different names and different hues,
Necks so long and short at queue.
For whatever reason, they stay
And at some seasons they grew.

With every span, ever swift,
A new plane, a new keep.
To stay a while or go,
Only the makers know.

Stretching the skies,
Flying up our hopes.
Dreaming as we pry,
Living here as we cope.

There will always be cranes in Singapore,
Or the skies won’t be complete.
On the top of the buildings,
Where heavy they lift.

They make each day a promise,
That one will be yours.
A home to cherish,
A house made of prose.

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