Zoe in the Wee Hours by Steven Givler When Zoe wakes
Her four-year-old's slumber
Interrupted by dream or noise
I hear her rise and cast aside her blankets
She makes her way to our room
Where Mommy's rhythmic breathing
And Daddy's wakefulness
Prove more reassuring
Than the fiber-filled bunny
She has carried all her life
It is always three or three-thirty
Some awful hour
When morning is still night
And I am loathe to waken
The only thing worse
Would be that she would not need me
So I am quick to rise
Quick to comfort
I tuck her back into bed
I smooth her furrowed brow
My father's duties done with gladness
Laid up against a time
Coming all too soon
When she will not waken
Or wakening, will not call
Or calling, call another man
© by Steven Givler.
Used with the author's permission.
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