now
at this early hour
no longer tucked within
the warm
throes of sleep
and blankets.
we of a certain age sleep
less
and rise earlier with each
passing year.
i hear
the old men bragging about
how they were at four
or five,
but why.
there are no sheep to tend
to.
no farm.
no eggs to collect or
cow to
milk.
and yet here we are with
the sun
rising, a plate of hours
before us,
a long ways before we
reach
that needed nap time.
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