What is it?
I stir at
the typical 3:30 a.m.,
dozing off,
a high-pitched
chirping emanates
from downstairs.
I stumble
to the source
with a red light,
but nothing else
out of the ordinary.
The only way
to stop it
is to
climb up
to replace
its life source.


Clever! I could hear it as I read your poem.
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