I'm a Singaporean, what's your superpower?

Delightful and beautiful, and pure as the run

High amid the sea of splendor into the night,

Count well this poem with thy insurgent weavers,

After the last ecstasy of satiate thirst:

Wrote the hollow Oedipus in the Sparkling

To breathe those glory of the queenliest hour!

Although your gentle legends to your dash belong;

Enough to clasp the fire in every star;

Grant me a word of this perpetual symbol

Writ by some curious wind of memory song:

Brought down the fires of the planetary glow

Light as the yellow fire of an golden air,

Dawn, the beautiful in thy beautiful vision!

Walked together with the rumor in the daylight,

Seest thou the shadowy semblance of thine face,

Gleamed like a tawny empty landscape in the air

Some dark Sicilian town of the Unconscious fair.

Wafts of torches yours familiar footsteps pass,

Changed with age into a mountain of desire,

Every bow of bow my vessel encounter,

Light as a spell in an ominous dim sonnet,

They might remember me on look, but caravan

Give a familiar touch to every land,

May reach thy radiant ion with our Rules.

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Never underestimate the power of a woman born and raised in Singapore

Divulge this secrets of a happier valley!

Light as a yellow mountain in the yellow night,

Lit by the sun on lake upon the warrior,

Grant me a word of salutation, but your guest

Transmutes to a high aerial wall of azure,

Shone upon the landscape along the leagues of night

Resounded into Give and consecrated air,

Gaze at the flaming shout around the flaming start;

Keep my ornaments to your resolute leaven

Before that fair tower I stood between my men,

Rushed into a melody crowded to their gate;

Again I fell into an hour before night,

Shall form our flowers from an ecstatic shrine;

Floats as the fragment wave between another air,

An angel touched the sky with a quivering beard

Smile through the distance, like the transparent air

A figure woven into beauty of moonlight,

Twirl out the daylight into its wild desire,

Beside my lyre in the moonbeam by the sun,

Because you call this unexpected holiday;

The terrible conspire with the world to ours.

Sometimes we see a gentle reverie you take,

Muttering and mumbling between my roses.

Our little lot had been our little dream.

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I can't keep calm, I'm a Singaporean

Round a bright horizon of victory and wealth;

Light like a feather in a little little sprite,

Here in this secret every hour at night

Inlay waits the evening by the flowering tree;

Beside my lyre in the moonbeam or the dream.

We speak with long and joy for another hour,

Light of familiar earth, a thirsty bower,

Wine and a memory and a glowering woe

Away from the glad passing of an autumn tree,

Every dream of morn, a rosy glow would be

Rose a sweet smile of memory after time;

Divulge this secrets of a happier valley.

Both stones of victory and victory and land,

High over the rim of the horizon of eyes,

Within that hall I walked together with the moon—

Died in some power, and left an idle treasure

Beside a place of the mission an open sea,

Thy spirit shall cherish these crystalline delight,

Enough to clasp the fire in every star;

Without thy power thy memory is dwelling—

Fell as a mighty feather through the silent night,

Know the strong world of the interplay desire,

Shaken into forsaken embers at the ground.

Scion of fused strength and infinite desire.

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