Past Midnight On Poemhunter Poem by Isadora Quagmire

It really is so late, but I cannot sleep at all,
Sometimes because I just cannot—other times I'm on call,
Poems and poets my name call:
‘Isadora! Isadora—come—you won't again to sleep fall! '

So I drag myself from bed,
Or if I'm with my fellow EMTs instead,
I will to clear my head,
Or to coax me back to bed,

Visit Poemhunter to pass the time,
And read good poems—some with and some without rhyme.
There are so many skilled poets and poetesses there to find!
They are often on my mind.

Sometimes I wonder: "What time is it there? "
As I see the recent graceful activity of Rebecca Navarre,
I just am curious—Mrs. Juan-austin is publishing masterpieces fair,
And Mr. Koleden is rating and commenting with such care,

Mr. Roy is writing his poetic mysteries,
Mr. Hopkins is penning haiku histories,
Mr. Lamberton is publishing his usual varieties
Mrs. Jayne Davies is turning out another poem of great profundity…

And it is 1: 00 am for me!
I wonder—is it evening—morning—time for tea?
Are they doing well—are they busy?
Is it late at night there like it is for me?

I smile and imagine where they are—
Near or far—
I cannot say—but regardless I pray:
May they have a great day!