Beneath the glow of Melbourne’s night,
On La Trobe where street lamps light,
A table hums with quiet cheer—
Chinese diners gathered near.
Their laughter soft, their voices low,
As city breezes gently blow.
Pasta twirls on lifted forks,
Steam rising up in fragrant corks.
Chili kissed the olive thread,
While stories in their language spread.
In bowls, a world both new and known—
Tradition met in foreign tone.
The night rolls on, a gentle stream,
Of noodle curls and shared daydream,
Where cultures blend in warm delight,
On La Trobe Street, deep in night.
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