Now is the hour when night takes flight
and dawn breaks into pearly light.
Before the sun has risen high
Now is the hour of mystery.
When nothing seems to be quite real
concealed in trailing morning mists.
Now is the hour when I feel
nothing and nobody exists.
The air of unreality
persists until the sun is high.
Which then dispels the fantasy
I conjure up. I will deny
the subtle fears which haunted me
left over from prehistory.