In sleepless dawns when
all I want is to rest at last.
Hearing then, corvids, chirp.
Sounding the advancing
When the night had not yet
given way to dusty dawn.
Retreating from the paling pool.
The darkness remains in the feathers.
The feathers of the anxious daws.
That I, wishing then, for eternal night,
or night enough to sleep.
The birds, mockingly sing high the approach.
The approach of the dawning day.
Hailing with song the rising sun,
to tell me that my sleep was done.
Drawing forth the dawning day,
and spilling in the flood the dawning grey.
And I, shrouded in my sheets, sojourn
am made deaf and blinded.
Deaf and blinded by approaching dawn.