With pen poised in my head
Tired words fell wearily
I felt like going back to bed
The blanket snug I left behind
Began again to beckon
The crawl up Steep-Step mountain
To sleep to dream to reckon
Not just any morning
So much more when up at four
A squeaky rhythmic pendulum
Cold feet walk on lino floor
Sipping slow a glass of water
My pencil waiting for a line
I fill in blanks on fresh white paper
Until something reads like mine
Sometimes a day has just begun
Too early fresh to keep
Eyelids wrap my thinking box
Return me upstairs back to sleep
Various ditties were written in the early hours
Here's a more recent one
On streetlight winter mornings No sign yet of daily travel As kitchen thoughts like lunch packs Are guessing games I might unravel
Among the many anythings Page droppings from my head I tune in to my tinnitus Which I can listen to in bed
Various ditties were written in the early hours
Here's a more recent one
On streetlight winter mornings No sign yet of daily travel As kitchen thoughts like lunch packs Are guessing games I might unravel
Among the many anythings Page droppings from my head I tune in to my tinnitus Which I can listen to in bed
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