The hour from night to day.

The hour from side to side.

The hour for those past thirty.

-

The hour swept clean to the crowing of cocks.

The hour when earth betrays us.

The hour when wind blows from extinguished stars.

The hour of and-what-if-nothing-remains-after-us.

-

The hollow hour.

Blank, empty.

The very pit of all other hours.

-

No one feels good at four in the morning.

If ants feel good at four in the morning

--three cheers for the ants. And let five o'clock come

if we're to go on living.

Wislawa Szymborska