Some bird in the still black-
Blue speckle of morning
Is singing
Is putting forth such throat praise
To the glories
Of this new day
From the tree top
Outside my window
At this predawn
At this not yet early light
Mugging me from
Those desperate glories of slumber
And I can’t help but wonder
As I toss and I turn
As I slip in and back
Out of dreamland
Into the swirls of his song
Of the worm
In some distant field
In some other town
That awaits this otherwise worthy
Early bird
By Chris Duffy
Chris lives in northern NJ. His poems have been included in Oberon, Paterson Literary Review, as well as anthologies.