I am feeling tired today. My cat Dickens has been known to wake me up at night but he has gotten really bad lately. He sits on the floor next to the bed and meows at me. Why can’t he be like Waldo and just sleep draped across my feet all night? The books say to ignore it. So I do. I lay there in bed, wide awake, waiting for him to get tired and stop. He can go for a surprisingly long time. This has been going on for a week now and he is not getting the hint that such behavior does not get any attention. He’s persistent, I’ll give him that. I am regularly as bleary-eyed as my coworker with the four-month old baby.

So it seems like a good day for a poem. Well any day is a good day for a poem in my opinion. I get a poem everyday in my email box from the Academy of American Poets. If you have not signed up for this wonderfully free service, you totally should. It’s easy.

Yesterday I got a poem by Hazel Hall who turns out to be from St. Paul, Minnesota. Her poem is in the public domain so I can post the whole thing without worrying about a visit from the copyright police. The poem is called “Hours” and since I’ve been having some foggy hours and hours that sure felt like eternal pain, I thought it only fitting. So here you go, enjoy.

Hours

I have known hours built like cities,
House on grey house, with streets between
That lead to straggling roads and trail off,
Forgotten in a field of green;

Hours made like mountains lifting
White crests out of the fog and rain,
And woven of forbidden music—
Hours eternal in their pain.

Life is a tapestry of hours
Forever mellowing in tone,
Where all things blend, even the longing
For hours I have never known.

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