In New Forum, where shutters dam the sun's stream,
A quilt of souls in a chessboard's dream.
A crush of commerce in a serpentine dance,
Where shadows flicker, and silence prances.

Smiths and spinners, a chorus of toil,
Their labor weaves dreams on the loom of will.
Cries of merchants in measured tone,
Echo through arches, time's own drone.

The scent of tea, a zephyr's caress,
Whispers of a future that seeps through thegress.
Copper kettles hum by the well of old,
A canticle of myths, eternal, bold.

In New Forum's heart, the old and new converge,
A sage's breath, where dreams take flight, and the world's axis urge.