Jazz in the Wee Hours

It is 3 am

I am up again

The house is still

Soft jazz keeps

Me company

While I write

Words of poetry

Very faintly

I start to hear

A hidden drum beat

In the music

It is low, subtle



It is a heart beat



The night is now alive

The beat pulls at

My consciousness

Brings me closer

To the speaker

Starts to thrum

In my blood

I am entranced

Enchanted, fascinated

Who is this musician

Who has stolen stealthily

In these wee hours

And seduced me

With this clandestine

Percussive beat?



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