Before the Break of Day

{{#ifeq: | | {{#ifeq: Justin S. (Whiteflame) | |

   {{#ifeq: Whiteflame | || 
     Author: Whiteflame  
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   {{#ifeq: Whiteflame | |
     Author: Justin S. (Whiteflame) |
     Author: Justin S. (Whiteflame)  
   }}
 }} |
 {{#ifeq: Justin S. (Whiteflame) | |
   {{#ifeq: Whiteflame | | Authors: ' | 
     Authors: Whiteflame 
   }} | 
   {{#ifeq: Whiteflame | |
     Authors: Justin S. (Whiteflame) |
     Author: Justin S. (Whiteflame) 
   }}
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}} {{#if:| — see also [[:Category:{{{category}}}|other works by this author]]}}

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<poem> I walk to a stream, And dip my nose and mouth, Into the water. It is cool, Pinwheels and helicopters are, Floating abreast it. I smell the sweet scent of, Pine cones and maple, recently fallen, With tiny men jumping, From dandelion to dandelion. I perk up my equine ears, And listen to the babbling stream, It says: “An ocean hath washed the grape vines away.”

I roll onto my back, Kicking my hooves outwards, I can feel every blade of grass, brushing against my hair. I roll over onto my side, And open my eyes, I perceive a red number: 653, Floating in a glass box, On a large wooden block. Oh, how I dread waking in the morning. </poem>

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