The Sound of a Sleeping City

The sound of a sleeping city fills the air,
A lullaby of whispers and distant hums,
A rhythm that's as constant as the stars,
That keeps the night watch while the world succumbs.

The cars that once roared through the streets now still,
Their engines cold, their drivers all at rest,
The neon signs that glowed so bright now dim,
The city's pulse now slowing in its chest.

Yet even in its slumber, the city sings,
A song of peace that's rarely heard by day,
A quiet melody that gently brings
A sense of calm to those who pass this way.

The rustling of leaves in empty parks,
The rustling of papers in the wind,
The fluttering of curtains in the dark,
The creaking of old houses that have thinned.

The barking of a dog that's far away,
The ticking of a clock inside a room,
The echo of footsteps in the alleyway,
The hooting of an owl that breaks the gloom.

The sound of a sleeping city is profound,
A symphony of stillness that resounds,
A momentary silence that astounds,
A beauty in its peace that knows no bounds.

The night sky watches over this domain,
A canvas black with stars that twinkle bright,
A reminder that the world will soon awaken,
And bring with it the chaos of the light.

But for now, let the city sleep in peace,
Let its sounds and songs weave a gentle spell,
Let us be still and listen to its heartbeat,
And find in it a momentary well.

For in the sound of a sleeping city,
There's a beauty that is rare and so sublime,
A peacefulness that's felt in every ditty,
A serenade that weaves a soothing rhyme.