Jazz In the Wee Hours

3 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 now alive

The beat pulls at

My consciousness


Brings me closer

To the speaker

Starts to thrum

In my blood

I am entranced




Who is this musician

Who has stolen stealthily

In these wee hours

And seduced me

With this clandestine

Percussive beat?

4 thoughts on “Jazz In the Wee Hours

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