Exploring Whampoa Hung Hom in Hong Kong in 2013

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Beneath the dragon's gaze, where steel meets salty spray,
Whispers of Whampoa Hung Hom drift on the Kowloon Bay.
Sun-kissed harbor shimmers, a canvas vast and wide,
Where history's brushstrokes mingle with the city's vibrant tide.

Junk boats bob like painted dreams, on turquoise waters bright,
Echoes of sampan oars, a rhythm born of light.
Granite piers stand stoic, testaments to trade's embrace,
Where opium dreams and silk fortunes left their lingering trace.

Wharf walls whisper tales, of coolies bent and strong,
Who built this concrete jungle, with sweat and mournful song.
Coolie Steps ascend, a silent, stony stair,
Whispering of burdens borne, beneath the weight of care.

But progress paints a canvas new, with sleek and soaring towers,
Where dragon shadows dance, on chrome and glassen bowers.
Cyberport, a silver dream, where data streams take flight,
A testament to futures, bathed in neon's vibrant light.

Yet cobbled streets still twine, in hidden alleyways,

Where dim sum scents entice, and mahjong tiles softly play.
Grandiose Sik Sik Yuen, a temple richly dressed,
Whispers of forgotten gods, in incense smoke caressed.

And in the twilight hush, beneath the neon's sway,
Temple Street unfolds, a vibrant, bustling foray.
Stalls overflow with treasures, jade and silk and pearls,
A symphony of haggling, where fortune hunters twirl.

So let us wander, lost in time's labyrinthine maze,
Where ancient whispers mingle with the city's modern daze.
For Whampoa Hung Hom whispers, a tale both old and new,
A tapestry of dragons, where past and present brew.

In every shadowed corner, in every neon gleam,
A story waits to bloom, a whispered, vibrant dream.
So close your eyes, and listen, to the city's gentle sigh,
And let Whampoa Hung Hom's magic, lift you to the sky.