False Start #29
No sleep. No sleep. Not yet my boy, not yet.
Not as the idle knife grinders sharpen their teeth with anticipation.
Not as the weavers slacken their looms for cat’s-cradle games.
Not as the machinists play percussive troupe with hammers and widgets.
Not as the money-grinders malinger in bed, refusing to reckon sums.
No sleep. No sleep. Not until they sing.
Not until you give them a song.