Droning On

Dawn was upon us.
As we watched the evening sky disappear into a pink and purple sea,
the familiar hum began.
Every morning while driving across the sky,
the automatic species’ song lulled us to sleep.
As the sun did its duty,
and we went to a dream.
A dream where what once was, was still there.
When we didn’t drone on and on
about the wait to be woken,
For a sense of purpose is long gone.

Published in the 125th edition of The Mitre, Canada’s oldest student Literary Journal.

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