I waken at the break of dawn
To look askance at day and yawn
As imps arise with taunting mien
To wave the tatters of my dream.
The opulence that night bestowed
Has vanished down the grubby road
That I must travel in a jeep,
A toiler's rendezvous to keep.
I snap my boots and contemplate
The penalty of coming late
And gulp some coffee from a cup
Too black and cold to pick me up.
The day is thundering with noise;
Gone the dream, the pantom joys.
Enchantment flees but never comes
To the morning beat of drums.
(First published in Along the Lane: Dedicated to the memory of Thomas William Larsen, who lost his life in World War II)
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