I Must Be Going

There's something special about 4 a.m.:
Not just that everything is tinged with red
Across the west Chicago sky, that bed
Is calling, that the songbirds (list to them!)
Are singing a consistent lullaby,
Or that the mind, half-tired and all fuzz,
Wishes to do as every other does:
Turn off, and let the waking world slide by.
No, if you force yourself to be awake
Perhaps from some idea trapped in your mind
And look around, and listen, you will find
Platonic stillness. Nothing else can make
The world as peaceful as mankind asleep
Leaving only nature, soft and deep.