Silent alarm at birdsong’s sudden end
drags consciousness to early morning light,

shadows lounge in corners while hands extend
reluctantly to reinstate time’s flight.

Inured by such routines, the daily bread,
contracts with convention tested and tried,

we leave desires and promises unsaid,
nothing is changed, still cold and grey outside.

High up at dusk a bird’s dark shape inclines
in gratitude for first summer showers,

flings a tune at the sky to remind us
what we might have done with those lost hours.

© Trevor Breedon