The early risers
Are ripped from their sleep
By tinkles and chimes
Of programmed alarms

They tread their cold floorboards
To peer in their mirrors
Observing dark shadows
Beneath their worn eyes

They are the ones
Who meet with bewilderment
The dark of pre-dawn
And ponder its death

They are the ones
Who half-asleep shuffle
Along broken pavements
Avoiding black puddles

They are the wearers
Of gloves and wool hats
Thick scarves and overcoats
And knotted shoe laces

A slumber-some army
Making their pilgrimage
To station and hospitals
Factories and schools

They are the ones
Who catch the first birdsong
The breaking of dawn
The crisp of the air

They are the ones
Who gaze at the moonlight
Wonder at stars
And think of the spring

They are the ones
Who live out the hours
Whilst we comfortable sleepers
Lie warm in our beds