From the jungle of sleep, I blink into day.
I stretch my foal legs in my paddock of hay.
What stumbles from dreamland, I’ll call that beast “me”.
It’s come up for air like a whale from the sea.
Some ferret has fired up the Ferris wheel sun.
The moon’s scuttled off like a crab on the run.
The mole in me protests, This light is too bright.
My eagle swoops down, gives that pipsqueak a fright.
No bird in my brain has forgotten its song.
They chatter a storm on what’s right and what’s wrong.
The mouse with its worries, the ant making plans,
a bee full of brio, a sloth hugs a branch,
A bookworm that’s itching to burrow in words.
But no book’s been written on loving the world.
A barn owl in my brain hoots, Go write your own.
These creatures will eat you from house and from home.
So take some advice from a wise bird of prey.
Be hunter, not hunted, by night and by day.
