more thoughts early morning

at four i watched the birds
sing and play on wires.

it's always the first
go round for the animals,
forever the first light.
even the morning they die
they'll rise up and sing,
chatter hysterical like the
first year of the roses.
some mornings too
you'll want to rise
and scream and sing
for it's no luck living
longest, just more
time bridled by death.