In leaps dawn
Like impetuous whimsey
All dressed in fiery red
Eyes burning with mad ambition

A pox on sleep!
The fawning dead
Drifting endlessly into
Oblivion

Not for us!
Up like buttercups
Like spiky woven thistles
Up toward the solar apogee

Until finally, inevitably,
The long graceless glide
Begins again

In slips dusk
All dusky