Dutch tulips cry a fresh morning dew.
Sun glistens from the heavens and windmills too.
Rich buttermilk waffles sizzle atop of a griddle.
A quaint merry man smokes and plays the fiddle.
Bicycles are common-sight here and there.
Taxis and trains are in Rembrandt square.
The shopping and markets are all at the Dam.
Something suitable for all ages, both sir and ma'am.
The national ballet and opera is resting near the water.
Mothers and fathers find a place to bring their daughters.
An array of lights.
Ballerinas take flight.
Cafés and bistros surely aren't joking.
They're not selling coffee, perhaps green leaves to be smoking.
The red light district is not something you wish to have seen.
How those women sell their bodies is unmistakably mean.
A place big enough for dreams that stretch out every seam.
A place for you to prosper, a place you'll beam.
Walk through this city, take a look around.
You'll hear the church tower's clock sing a classic gothic sound.
Couples sitting on bridges with their legs dangling below.
Their eyes filled with passion, an ember colored glow.
Come here on a plane, it's possible you can.
Come here quickly my friend, come to Amsterdam.
