I wake up mornings pleased to have stopped dreaming.  All my dreams
Are bad:  there's something that I haven't done, I'm due to leave,
But I'm not ready.  Bears and even giant ants have chased me.  I've 
Plunged off of cliffs.  The predawn light has little promise, but I know 
What I've to do, and where and when I should be going.  Life awake
Is dull.  My every moment is quotidian, but I'd much rather live
That way than realize my dreams.