In December the dawn stays longer
The day keeps arriving forever
Like a leaf coming down floating
From a tall tree it is unwilling to leave
The fog cannot let go of the trees
Or the earth or the minds of those
Who are waking, sleeping, waking
Reluctant to give up the bed's warmth
Somewhere a milk cooker whistles
Showing others have risen early
And going on with their daily routine
I prefer to practise niksen, doing nothing
Waiting but not looking forward to
The sun breaking through the clouds
Not minding what will or not happen.
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