Four AM Anthem, Unseen Chorus

The first robin, sharp and clear,

punctures the last of the dark.

Then another, and another.

Four AM. Or maybe five.

The gray light seeps around the blinds,

an insult to my sleepless eyes.

They sing of daybreak,

of worms and sun and going on.

I just lie here, weighted down

by the heavy coat of being awake

when I should be gone.

They don't care.

They just sing.