Even before the dawn,
They're up and about.
In their desire to leave,
they scream and shout.
They rustle they bang,
And search their bags.
One laughs, one screaches,
And the other one nags.
But for the sleeping,
They do not scare.
Even of the rules,
They do not care.
At six they're off,
And slam the door.
Making merriment in haste,
Feet bang the floor.
But where do they go,
At this ungodly hour.
To leave sleeping folk,
Still feeling sour.
No bars are open,
In which to eat.
Or buy a coffee,
So why not sleep.
And let the rest,
Rise at the call.
As the cockeral crows,
Then one and all.
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