#6
The Early Hours
In the lonely time of night
Between the hours of one and three,
I have the house all to myself,
And its silence speaks to me.
It whispers in the motors,
Burbles in the drains,
Creaks in the ancient floor boards,
Rumbles in the distant trains.
I love the lonely time of night
To read and write and think--
And peer into the darkness,
Doing dishes at the sink.