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  • Writer's pictureLeann Shamash

The Hour Before Dawn

Updated: Aug 29, 2021

The Hour Before Dawn

It is quiet in the hour before dawn.

Quiet, but not still.

The lone cricket sings his trilling tune.

The refrain repeats over and over.

A single string plucked and plucked again

like a teenager’s love lament.

A lonely mosquito buzzes above

as tiny spiders await their prey;

making their journeys across

the pale white tundra of ceilings and walls.

They stand watch, guarding their webs.

Through the windows silky gray clouds glide through

the faded inky sky.

Silent stars accompany the moon on her travels.

A light breeze blows.

The night's waning, shallow breaths before dawn.

Time moves by day to the rhythm of our actions.

Our conversations the music which escorts us as we dart from

place to place

But the hours of night tumble swiftly as we slumber,

marked by the sound of the old grandfather clock,

chiming the passage of time;

he breaks the silence

again and again.

It is quiet in the hour before dawn

while most slumber in their beds,

tossing and turning,

dreaming dreams of forgotten yesterdays

mixed with bits of tomorrow

and slivers of worry,

We enters the altered worlds of slumber.

Fighting dragons, saving worlds

being who we are not

or who we wish to be.

Sleep well, friends.

Let the breeze tickle your face.

Smile in your sleep, like a babe.

The cloak of darkness will be your blanket.

Let it soothe you

as your eyelids flutter gently,

as the breeze blows through the lace curtain.

It is quiet in the hour before dawn,

the time before reality begins.

Allow the silent lullabies to rock you,

as night's darkness fades

and escorts in the infant dawn.

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