A Sort-Of Poem Just Popped Out of Space and Time

In the early predawn of 31 May I awakened as I often do at that time of day.

“It must be about 0430” I thought to myself.

I didn’t need to look at the clock.

My near neighbor in the trees just across the Seine had begun to sing his morning song.

Merles Noirs do that.

Just like robins in North America.

As I listened to the melody loop and repeat and change and unfold  an almost audible thought crossed my mind.

“Soon June”.

For some reason I kept thinking that phrase.

After all, pre-dawn 31 May is almost June.  So the phrase was certainly true.  But I couldn’t shake the feeling of deeper meaning.

As has happened on a few other occasions, usually in Paris, the yellow writing pad seemed to be the only way to banish the thought and get back to sleep.

This sort-of poem quickly wrote itself.

Soon June

“Soon June”

I thought I heard someone say.

“Soon June”

There, I heard it yet again.

“Soon June”

I wonder what it might mean?

“Soon June”

Means it that June is almost here?

Surely it can’t be that simple.

Means it that the end is near?

Surely it can’t be that grim.

But:

If it were the end,

The end of what?

How easy!

If it were the end

It would be the click of the clock;

The set of the chestnuts;

The reddening of the berries;

The chirp of the robins;

The chirp of the merles.

There, I heard it.

The clock just clicked..

“Soon June”