The Anxious Book Worm

They wake me before the sun,
their voices drifting softly through the open air,
a distant chorus that grows a little louder
with every passing minute.

There’s something peaceful about their morning conversations,
before the world remembers how to rush.

I lie still,
trying to separate each voice,
wondering who is calling,
and who is answering.

What are they saying to one another?
What adventures are they planning?
Where have they travelled from?
Where will today take them?

Do they greet each sunrise with excitement,
or simply accept it as another gift?

Sometimes I envy that kind of freedom…

Oh, to be a bird on a beautiful morning.