Far away but nudging me close.
Roused by the howl and the mimic of the doves.
I see it is not yet light,
No matter what the whistle says.
Back in my twin bed, I feel like a queen,
Stretching beyond the length but never lacking for warmth.
Meanwhile, the train calls again:
“The sun is not risen, but you can be. Chase down the darkness until your shadow is on your tail and the sun is just a second place contender for the day.”
It is wise beyond my pre-dawn thoughts,
And I am up for good.
As the train moves on, the whistle sounds again and again,
Alerting the rise of morning
And the futility of children's beds.
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