[Eliza Hodgkins 1812]

Early bird gets the worm
But the night owl hunts the mouse,
Which is bigger, meatier,
And gives a satisfying squeal as its plucked.

Wake up early, but not as early as I’d like,
So it’s doughnuts and coffee
A few times a week;
They go down like worms, slippery sweet.

I stay up late making up for hours
Lost at a 9-5 desk job, where I sit
Suckling stillborn thoughts and
Nursing daydreams with a tall-tale heart.

Is this how I'll occupy
The rest of my life, with a drawl that
Unfolds and expands away from me,
Like a Universe?
How I dread and cower before such an Infinity.

It's in the early hours of the morning,
When I think a worm is more than enough,
That I confuse starvation with lightening up.

But in the dampening, darkening night
I hunger madly for better prey,
A curious morsel, a brave harangue;
Something that’s meaty to put gristle in my teeth,
Something that wrestles when I fall upon it,
And bites me back, and sighs
With something like contentment
When emitting its dying breath.