The creature is emerging
from its long respite.
The creature it is waking,
having slumbered a long night.

And now with daylight,
a goal in its sight,
it will labor,
until the job is done right.

An hour.
a day.
A whole month of May.
It matters not,
so long as it,
has its way.

It had a vision,
spawned of a fevered dream,
to coerce reality,
restitch its seam.

Whether it does or nigh,
depends on the creature;
its lasting high.
For fevered dreams are brutal–
can build forever to a sigh.