“Waking up early and going back to bed”

Dawn shivers against the window glass—  
A pale, reluctant yawn of light—  
The world outside stirs in a hush:  
Street lamps blinking out of sight.  
Alarm’s persistent, gentle chime  
Threads through the comfort of my dreams,  
Yet eyelids flutter, savoring time  
While golden silence softly gleams.

I rise, a ghost in flannel draped,  
My feet half-hearted on the floor,  
The brushing chill, the pillow-shaped  
Indent upon my head and more  
Call softly as I rub my eyes,  
The kettle’s gurgle far away,  
But morning’s promise, bright and wise,  
Is less than what my covers say.

Returning to that pillowed slope,  
In dawn’s brief mercy I resettle,  
Trading ambitions for the hope  
Of sleep that pours like silver metal.  
Let bustling city life proceed—  
For now, I’ll drift where dreams have led,  
Preferring, over work or speed,  
The stolen joy of extra bed.

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